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AMONG  THE 

GREAT  MASTERS  OF  LITERATURE 


AMONG 

THE  GREAT  MASTERS 

By 

Walter  Rowlands 

Among  the  Great  Masters  of  Drama 

Among  the  Great  Masters  of  Warfare 

Among  the  Great  Masters  of  Literature 

Among  the  Great  Masters  of  Music 

Among  the  Great  Masters  of  Painting 

Among  the  Great  Masters  of  Oratory 

izmo,  handsome  cover  design,  boxed  separately  or 

in  sets 

DANA  ESTES  &  COMPANY 

Publishers 

Estes  Press»  2i2  Sunmier  Street,  Boston 

Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2007  witli  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/amonggreatmasterOOrowliala 


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The  Mitre  Tavern. 

From  painting  by  Eyre  Crowe. 


Among  the  Great 

Masters   of  Literature 

Scenes  in  the  Lives  of  Great  Authors 


Thirty-two  Reproductions  of  Famous  Paintings 
with  Text  by 

Walter  Rowlands 


Boston 

Dana  Estes  &  Company 

Publishers 

t.2^  J^  J?i;i»  J^J^J^  Tr^2^X^ 


Copyright,  igoo 
By  Dana  Estes  &  Company 


Elearotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


Co  Mii  mat]}et 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

Homer i 

Sappho lo 

Virgil 20 

Dante 28 

Petrarch 40 

Boccaccio 48 

Tasso 53 

Chaucer 60 

More .67 

Shakespeare 72 

Walton 84 

Milton 94 

Defoe 105 

Swift 113 

Pope 123 

Sterne 135 

Chatterton 14s 


Contents. 

PAGB 

Johnson  .        .        .        .        .        .        .152 

Goldsmith 162 

Burns 171 

Ch  ARTIER 180 

Moli£:re 186 

Voltaire 193 

Diderot 201 

Schiller 210 

Goethe 217 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGB 

The  Mitre  Tavern    .        .        .         Frontispiece 

Homer 8 

Sappho 17 

Virgil,    Horace,    and    Varius    at    the 

House  of  Maecenas     ....  22 

Dante  Meeting  Matilda  ....  28 

Dante  and  Beatrice  ....  35 
The    Presentation    of    Petrarch    and 

Laura 45 

Boccaccio S3 

Tasso  at  Ferrara 58 

Chaucer  at  the  Court  of  Edward  III.  62 

Sir  Thomas  More  and  his  Daughter    .  68 

Shakespeare  before  Sir  Thomas  Lucy.  72 
Shakespeare    Reading    before     Queen 

Elizabeth 78 

Shakespeare  and  his  Contemporaries  .  80 


List  of  Illustrations, 

PAGB 

IzAAK  Walton  and  his  Pupil  ...        92 
Mr.   Oliver    Cromwell    of    Ely   Visits 

Mr.  John  Milton         ....        96 
Milton  Dictating  "  Paradise  Lost  "  to 

HIS  Daughters 103 

Defoe  in  the  Pillory       .        .        .        .110 

Swift  and  Stella 115 

The  Rejected  Poet 132 

Yorick  and  the  Grisette         .        .        .       141 

Chatterton 145 

Doctor  Johnson   in  the  Anteroom  of 

Lord   Chesterfield     .        .        .        .160 

The  First  Audience 169 

Burns  in  Edinburgh,  1787        .        .        .171 
The  Meeting  of  Burns  and  Scott         .       175 
Alain  Chartier  and  Margaret  of  Scot- 
land        181 

MOLlfeRE  AND   his    COMPANY  .  .  .         187 

The   Round    Table   of    Frederick   the 

Great 196 

La  Lecture  chez  Diderot       .        .        .  202 

Schiller  at  Weimar 210 

Napoleon  L,  Goethe,  and  Wieland      .  218 


PREFACE. 

The  compiler  desires  to  acknowledge  his 
indebtedness  for  aid  generously  given  by  Mr. 
George  E,  Layton,  Secretary  of  the  National 
Art  Gallery  of  New  South  Wales,  and  by 
Mr.  Charles  M.  Hardie,  of  Edinburgh,  in 
securing  the  pictures  of  Chaucer  and  Burns. 


"  For  there  was  Milton  like  a  seraph  strong, 
Beside  him  Shakespeare  bland  and  mild ; 
And  there  the  world-worn  Dar>te  grasp'd  his  song, 
And  somewhat  grimly  smiled. 

"  And  there  the  Ionian  father  of  the  rest; 
A  million  wrinkles  carved  his  skin ; 
A,  hundred  winters  snow'd  upon  his  breast, 
From  cheek  and  throat  and  chin." 

—  Tennyson,  The  Palace  of  Art. 


AMONG  THE  GREAT  MASTERS 
OF  LITERATURE. 


HOMER. 


"  Perad VENTURE  it  is  not  to  be  marvelled 
at,"  says  Plutarch,  "  if  in  long  process  of  time 
(fortune  altering  her  effects  daily)  these 
worldly  events  often  fall  out  one  like  an- 
other. .  .  .  Thus,  of  the  two  famous  Scipios, 
the  Carthaginians  were  first  overcome  by 
the  one,  and  afterwards  utterly  destroyed  by 
the  other.  Thus  the  city  of  Troy  was 
first  taken  by  Hercules,  for  the  horses  that 
Laomedon  had  promised  him ;  the  second 
time  by  Agamemnon,  by  means  of  the 
great  wooden  horse ;  and  the  third  time  by 


2         The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Charidemus,  by  means  of  a  horse  that  fell 
within  the  gate  and  kept  the  Trojans  from 
shutting  it  in  time.  And  thus,  after  two 
sweet-smelling  plants,  two  cities,  los  and 
Smyrna,  were  named,  the  one  signifying  the 
Violet,  and  the  other  Myrrh.  It  is  supposed 
that  the  poet  Homer  was  born  in  the  one  and 
died  in  the  other." 

Smyrna  has  perhaps  the  better  claim  to 
the  honour  of  being  the  birthplace  of  Ho- 
mer, but  Rhodes,  Colophon,  Salamis,  Chios, 
Argos,  and  Athens  dispute  the  palm  with  her. 

"  Seven  cities  now  contend  for  Homer  dead 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread.'- 

The  Homeric  h)min  to  the  Delian  Apollo, 
once  ascribed  to  Homer  himself,  says,  in  the 
fine  translation  by  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge, 
the  nephew  and  literary  executor  of  the  poet 
Coleridge : 

"  Virgins !  farewell  —  and  oh  !  remember  me, 
Hereafter,  when  some  stranger  from  the  sea, 


Homer.  3 

A  helpless  wanderer,  may  your  isle  explore, 
And  ask  you,  maids,  of  all  the  bards  you  boast, 
Who  sings  the  sweetest  and  delights  you  most  ? 
Oh  !  answer  all :  '  A  blind  old  man,  and  poor  — 
Sweetest  he  sings  —  and  dwells    on   Chios'  rocky 
shore.' " 

Antipater  of  Sidon  wittily  solved  the  prob- 
lem, doubtless  to  his  own  satisfaction  at  least, 
thus: 

"  From  Colophon  some  deem  thee  sprung, 

From  Smyrna  some,  and  some  from  Chios ; 
These  noble  Salamis  have  sung. 

While  those  proclaim  thee  bom  in  los ; 
And  others  cry  up  Thessaly 
The  mother  of  the  Lapithae. 

•*  Thus  each  to  Homer  has  assigned 
The  birthplace  which  just  suits  his  mind. 

*♦  But,  if  I  read  the  volume  right. 

By  Phoebus  to  his  followers  given, 
I'd  say  they're  all  mistaken  quite. 
And  that  his  real  country's  heaven ; 
While  for  his  mother,  she  can  be 
No  other  than  Calliope." 


4         The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Concerning  the  old  singer's  blindness,  Sir 
John  Denham  wrote: 

«  I  can  no  more  believe  old  Homer  blind 
Than  those  who  say  the  sun  has  never  shined  : 
The  age  wherein  he  lived  was  dark ;  but  he 
Could  not  want  sight  who  taught  the  world  to  see.' 

And  as  to  his  grave,  one  ancient  poet 
asseverates : 

"  Blest  Isle  of  los  !     On  thy  rocky  steeps 
The  Star  of  Song,  the  Grace  of  Graces  sleeps." 

It  would  scarcely  be  expected  that  this 
little  book  should  set  forth,  much  less  at- 
tempt to  decide,  the  still  unsolved  problems 
of  Homer's  career,  —  questions  which  once 
engaged  the  intellect  of  a  Gladstone,  among 
others. 

However,  if  ever,  these  questions  may  be 
settled,  they  probably  did  not  much  concern 
those  artists  who  have  vied  with  the  writers 
in  their  lavish  tributes  to  Homer,  —  pen  and 


Homer.  5 

pencil  alike  seeking  to  do  their  utmost  in 
honour  of  the  "  Father  of  Poetry." 

Raphael,  in  his  fresco  of  **  Parnassus,"  in 
the  Vatican,  wherein  Apollo,  seated  under 
laurels  and  surrounded  by  the  Muses, 
plays  upon  a  violin,  has  portrayed  Homer 
as  singing,  with  hand  outstretched  and 
face  uplifted,  inspired  by  the  music  of  the 
God. 

The  eminent  French  painter.  Baron 
Gerard,  executed  a  picture  of  the  blind  old 
poet  standing,  a  majestic  figure,  on  the  rocky 
shore  of  Chios,  listening,  as  if  entranced,  to 
the  rythmic  roar  of  the  waves.  One  hand  is 
raised  to  heaven,  and  the  other  rests  on  the 
shoulder  of  his  guide,  a  girl  of  tender  years, 
who  seems  about  to  lead  him  away  in  search 
of  shelter. 

It  is  a  repetition  in  paint  of  Coleridge's 
pen-picture  of 

"  that  blind  bard,  who  on  the  Chian  strand, 
By  those  deep  sounds  possessed  with  inward  light, 


6         The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Beheld  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey, 
Rise  to  the  swelling  of  the  voiceful  sea." 


Ingres  depicted  him,  on  a  ceiling  in  the 
Louvre,  almost  as  a  god,  seated  before  a 
temple,  and  crowned  by  the  Universe,  with 
the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  at  his  feet,  while 
the  great  men  of  all  times  offer  him  their 
homage.  Pindar  raises  his  lyre,  Herodotus 
burns  incense,  Phidias  proffers  his  inspired 
chisel,  and  Alexander  the  Great  holds  out  the 
casket  in  which  he  deposited  his  copy  of  the 
Iliad.  Sappho  and  Horace  are  among  the  il- 
lustrious ones  there,  Virgil  introduces  Dante, 
and  Apelles  conducts  Raphael,  while  Michael 
Angelo,  Tasso,  Shakespeare,  La  Fontaine, 
Mozart,  Poussin,  and  Moli^re  also  find  place 
amid  the  mighty  minds  assembled  in  praise 
of  Homer. 

Kaulbach,  in  one  of  his  wall  paintings  in 
the  New  Museum  at  Berlin,  represents  him 
with  lyre  in  hand  approaching  the  Grecian 


Homer.  7 

shore  in  a  boat  steered  by  the  Cumsean  sybil, 
while  Thetis  and  the  Nereids  arise  from  the 
sea  to  listen  to  his  song.  On  the  shore  are 
gathered  the  great  men  of  Greece,  —  Hesiod, 
-^schylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  Aristophanes^ 
Pericles,  and  many  more  ;  and  in  the  air  above 
float  the  three  Graces,  Apollo  and  the  Muses, 
and  the  gods  of  Olympus. 

Delacroix  enriched  the  cupola  of  the 
Library  of  the  Luxembourg  Palace  with  a 
painting  of  a  scene  in  Elysium  wherein 
Homer  appears  receiving  Dante,  who  is 
presented  by  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid,  and 
Lucan  being  near  by. 

Bouguereau,  in  a  picture  which  once 
adorned  the  gallery  of  A.  T.  Stewart,  the 
New  York  dry  goods  millionaire,  and  is 
now  in  the  Layton  Art  Gallery  at  Mil- 
waukee, shows  the  venerable  bard  attacked 
by  the  dogs  of  some  rude  peasants  and  being 
led  away  by  his  youthful  guide. 

A  striking  conception  of  the  theme  is  fur- 


8  The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

nished  by  Lecomte  du  Nouy,  a  distinguished 
French  artist,  in  his  triptych  which  appeared 
at  the  Salon  in  1882.  The  central  portion 
of  this  fine  work  portrays  the  aged  poet, 
resting,  while  beside  him  sleeps  the  boy  who 
guides  his  wavering  footsteps.  It  is  night, 
and  around  him  reposes  a  templed  city,  but 
Homer,  with  hand  on  his  beloved  lyre,  and 
face  uplifted  to  the  stars,  wakes  and  com- 
poses his  immortal  lines.  The  right-hand 
panel  of  the  triptych  typifies  the  Iliad,  with 
the  goddess  of  Discord  brandishing  torch  and 
spear  above  the  dead  body  of  a  fallen  king ; 
and  in  the  left  section  appears  Penelope,  the 
faithful  spouse  of  Ulysses.  She  carries  in 
her  arms  the  portrait  and  the  bow  of  her 
absent  hero,  while  behind  is  seen  the  tapes- 
try by  means  of  which  she  evaded  the  impor- 
tunities of  the  suitors,  and  at  her  feet  sits  the 
favourite  dog  of  Ulysses. 

Jules   Jean   Antoine    Lecomte    du    Nouy 
was  born  at  Paris  in   1842,  and  studied  art 


Homer 

From  painting  by  Lecomte  du  Nouy. 


Homer.  9 

under  Gleyre  and  Gerome,  winning  a  second 
Grand  Prize  of  Rome  in  1865.  His  d^but  at 
the  Salon  had  been  made  in  1863  with  "  Fran- 
cesca  da  Rimini  and  Paolo  Malatesta  in  Hell." 
His  pictures  are  seldom  seen  in  the  United 
States,  but  many  Americans  will  recall  his 
"  Bearers  of  Bad  News,"  a  striking  episode 
of  the  times  of  the  Pharaohs,  in  the  Luxem- 
bourg, which  gained  him  a  medal  in  1872. 
The  "  Homer "  triptych  was  shown  at  the 
Paris  Exposition  of  1889,  together  with 
"  Rameses  in  His  Harem,"  and  a  silver 
medal  was  bestowed  on  the  artist  at  that 
time.  Previous  to  painting  it,  he  had  pro- 
duced a  "  Homer  Begging,"  which  is  now 
in  the  Museum  of  Grenoble.  He  deco- 
rated the  Chapel  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  in 
the  Church  of  the  Trinity  at  Paris,  with  a 
painting  of  "  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  Converting 
Galley-slaves." 


10       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 


SAPPHO. 

Of  the  life  of  Sappho,  the  most  celebrated 
of  all  women  poets,  we  know  but  little. 
So  many  centuries  have  passed  since  she 
wrote  the  poems  which  have  made  her  name 
immortal,  that  hardly  any  authentic  records 
of  her  history  survive.  She  was  probably 
born  in  Mitylene,  one  of  the  great  centres  of 
Greek  civilisation,  and  the  principal  city  of  the 
island  of  Lesbos,  in  the  .^gean  Sea.  Mity- 
lene, once  classed  by  Horace  with  Rhodes, 
Ephesus,  and  Corinth,  now  but  a  decaying 
Turkish  village,  is  built  upon  a  rocky  prom- 
ontory with  a  harbour  on  either  hand.  Be- 
hind it  the  wooded  hills,  thickly  clothed  with 
silvery  olives  and  darker  pomegranates,  rise 
to  meet  the  bases  of  the  loftier  mountains 
from  whose  heights  "you  look  eastward  upon 
the  pale  distances  of  Asia  Minor,  or  down 
upon  the  calm  ^gean,  intensely  blue,  amid 


Sappho.  1 1 

which  the  island  rests  as  if  inlaid  in  lapis 
lazuli." 

The  dates  of  the  birth  and  death  of  Sappho 
are  lost,  but  she  is  thought  to  have  been 
at  the  zenith  of  her  fame  about  the  year  6io 
B,  c.  We  know  that  she  divided  with  her 
distinguished  fellow  countryman,  Alcaeus, 
the  leadership  of  the  -^olic  school  of  lyric 
poetry,  and  that  she  was  the  centre  of  a 
circle  of  accomplished  women,  who  looked 
up  to  her  as  a  teacher.  It  should  be  said 
here  that  the  iEolians  had  to  some  extent 
preserved  the  ancient  Greek  manners,  and 
their  women  enjoyed  a  distinct  individual 
existence  and  moral  character.  They  evi- 
dently shared  in  the  general  high  state  of 
civilisation,  which  not  only  fostered  poetical 
talents  of  a  high  order  among  women,  but 
encouraged  in  them  a  taste  for  philosophical 
reflection. 

The  legend  which  asserts  that  Sappho 
put  an  end  to  her  existence  by  leaping  into 


12        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

the  sea  from  the  rock  of  Leucadia  (the  cliff 
is  known  to  this  day  as  '•  Sappho's  Leap  "), 
because  of  an  unrequited  attachment  for  a 
beautiful  youth  named  Phaon,'  does  not  rest 
on  any  firm  historic  ground.  Sappho  is 
supposed  to  have  married  a  wealthy  man, 
who  left  her  a  widow  while  she  was  still 
young. 

She  was  the  admiration  of  all  antiquity, 
as  is  witnessed  by  her  contemporary  Solon, 
the  great  lawgiver,  who,  hearing  one  of  her 
poems  recited,  exclaimed  that  he  would  not 
willingly  die  until  he  had  learned  it  by  heart. 

Plato  hailed  her  as  the  tenth  Muse  : 

"  Some  thoughtlessly  proclaim  the  Muses  nine  ; 
A  tenth  is  Lesbian  Sappho,  maid  divine." 

Strabo  says  he  knew  "no  woman  who  in 
any,   even  the  least  degree,   could  be  com- 

*  Phaon,  a  boatman  of  Mitylene,  having  ferried  Venus 
disguised  as  an  old  woman  over  into  Asia,  without  charge, 
was  presented  by  the  goddess  with  a  small  box  of  oint- 
ment. As  soon  as  he  had  rubbed  himself  with  this,  he 
|}ecame  one  of  the  handsomest  of  men, 


Sappho.  13 

pared  to  her  for  poetry."  Plutarch  speaks 
of  the  grace  of  her  poems  acting  on  her  lis- 
teners like  an  enchantment.  Others  called 
her  "  the  female  Homer,"  and  she  was  fre- 
quently styled  "  the  Poetess,"  just  as  Homer 
was  "the  Poet."  Of  her  numerous  works, 
only  fragments  remain.  The  following,  trans- 
lated by  Ambrose  Philips,  is  one  of  the  long- 
est and  best  known  : 

«  Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  he, 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee, 
And  hears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile ! 

**  'Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumults  in  my  breast ; 
For  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  tost, 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost 

«« My  bosom  glowed ;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame ; 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung ; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung. 

•*  In  dewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chilled ; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrilled  \ 


14        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play,  — 
I  fainted,  sank,  and  died  away ! " 

Another  fragment  —  an  epitaph  on  a 
favourite  maiden  —  says  : 

"  This  dust  was  Timas' ;  ere  her  bridal  hour 
She  lies  in  Proserpina's  gloomy  bower ; 
Her  virgin  playmates  from  each  lovely  head 
Cut  with  sharp  steel  their  locks,  their  strewments  for 
the  dead. " 

Among  the  translators  of  Sappho,  whose 
theme  is  generally  love,  may  be  found  Tom 
Moore,  Swinburne,  Rossetti,  Sir  Edwin  Ar- 
nold, J.  Addington  Symonds,  and  Thomas 
Went  worth  Higginson. 

We  have  spoken  of  Alcaeus,  the  inventor 
of  Alcaic  verses,  as  Sappho  was  of  Sapphic. 
"  These  two  will  always  be  united  in  fame  as 
the  joint  founders  of  the  lyric  poetry  of 
Greece,  and  therefore  of  the  world.". 

Alcaeus  is  said  to  have  paid  his  addresses 
to  Sappho,  as  the  Greek  poet  Hermesianax 
sings  : 


Sappho.  15 

«  And  well  thou  knowest  how  famed  Alcaeus  smote 
Of  his  high  harp  the  love  enlivened  strings, 
And  raised  to  Sappho's  praise  the  enamored  note, 
Midst  noise  of  mirth  and  jocund  revellings : 
Aye,  he  did  love  that  nightingale  of  song 
With  all  a  lover's  fervor." 

Alcaeus  spent  much  of  his  life  amid  polit- 
ical convulsions,  in  which  he  was  prominent, 
and  his  songs  are  not  only  of  love,  but  also 
of  war,  as  is  the  one  we  here  present : 

"  Glitters  with  brass  my  mansion  wide ; 
The  roof  is  deck'd  on  every  side 

In  martial  pride. 
With  helmets  ranged  in  order  bright 
And  plumes  of  horse-hair  nodding  white, 

A  gallant  sight  — 

Fit  ornament  for  warrior's  brow \ 

And  round  the  walls,  in  goodly  row,  ""< 

Refulgent  glow  \ 

Stout  greaves  of  brass  like  bumish'd  gold,     I 
And  corslets  there,  in  many  a  fold 

Of  linen  roU'd ; 
And  shields  that  in  the  battle  fray 
The  routed  losers  of  the  day 

Have  cast  away ; 


1 6       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Euboean  falchions  too  are  seen, 
With  rich  embroider'd  belts  between 

Of  dazzling  sheen : 
And  gaudy  surcoats  piled  around, 
The  spoils  of  chiefs  in  war  renown'd, 

May  there  be  found. 
These,  and  all  else  that  here  you  see, 
Are  fruits  of  glorious  victory 

Achieved  by  me." 

Sir  William  Jones,  in  his  "  Ode  in  Imita- 
tion of  Alcaeus,"  shows  us  the  Greek  poet 
attaining  a  loftier  height.  These  noble  lines, 
though  well  known,  can  scarcely  be  too  often 
quoted. 

"  What  constitutes  a  state  ? 
Not  high-raised  battlement  or  laboured  mound, 

Thick  wall,  or  moated  gate ; 
Not  cities  proud,  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned ; 

Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports, 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies  ride; 

Not  starred  and  spangled  courts, 
Where  low-born  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride  : 

No  —  men,  high-minded  men. 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued, 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 


Sappho. 
From  painting  by  Lorenz  Alnta  Tadema. 


Sappho.  17 

As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude ; 

Men,  who  their  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain ; 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant,  while  they  rend  the  chain ; 

These  constitute  a  state  ; 
And  sovereign  Law,  that  with  collected  will 

O'er  thrones  and  globes  elate. 
Sits  empress,  crowning  good,  repressing  ill. 

Smit  by  her  sacred  frown 
The  fiend  Dissension  like  a  vapour  sinks  ; 

And  e'en  the  all-dazzling  Crown 
Hides  his  faint  rays,  and  at  her  bidding  shrinks.'* 

In  Alma  Tadema's  painting  of  "  Sappho," 
the  figure  of  Alcaeus  is  of  equal  importance 
with  that  of  the  poetess.  Clothed  in  a  gar- 
ment of  pale  rose,  he  sits  opposite  her,  and 
accompanies  on  his  lute  the  fervent  words  of 
his  song. 

Sappho,  leaning  on  a  stand  which  holds 
the  wreath,  bound  with  ribbons,  that  is  the 
crown  of  poets,  listens  with  absorbed  interest 
to  this  not  unwelcome  tribute  of  praise  and 
love.     She  wears  a  robe  of  green  and  gray, 


1 8        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

and  violets  are  bound  in  her  deep  black  hair. 
Beside  her  stands  her  daughter  Clefs,  and 
above  may  be  seen  three  pupils  of  her  school. 
The  dazzling  white  marble  of  the  exedra  is 
relieved  against  the  dark  stone  pines,  through 
which  we  see  the  rich  blue  southern  sea  and 
sky. 

This  work,  one  joi  the  artist's  masterpieces, 
was  first  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy  in 
1 88 1,  and  is  now  in  the  celebrated  collec- 
tion of  pictures  left  by  William  T.  Walters 
of  Baltimore,  which  also  holds  other  can- 
vases by  this  eminent  Dutch-English  painter. 
As  every  art-lover  knows.  Alma  Tadema's 
fame  rests  most  securely  upon  his  marvel- 
lous reproductions  of  the  life  of  ancient 
Greece  and  Rome,  especially  to  be  studied 
in  such  important  examples  of  his  genius  as 
"The  Vintage  Festival,"  "The  Picture  Gal- 
lery," "  The  Sculpture  Gallery,"  "  A  Roman 
Emperor,"  "An  Audience  at  Agrippa's,"  and 
"  Hadrian   in  England."     These  and  others 


Sappho.  19 

such  as  these  have  earned  for  him  both 
gold  and  glory,  and  the  sobriquet  of  the 
"Archaeologist  of  artists."  Nearly  half  of 
his  life  has  been  spent  in  England,  —  he 
was  bom  in  Holland  in  1836,  —  and  one 
of  his  latest  honours  came  to  him  in  1899, 
when  he  received  the  gift  of  knighthood 
from  Queen  Victoria.  Emerson  said  that 
in  England,  "Not  trial  by  jury,  but  the  din- 
ner, is  the  capital  institution,"  and  so  it  was 
natural  that,  soon  after  this  recognition  of 
Alma  Tadema's  merit,  some  scores  of  his 
friends  and  admirers  enthusiastically  greeted 
him  at  a  banquet  given  in  his  honour  in 
London. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  he  is  the  third 
painter  from  the  Low  Countries  to  attain 
knighthood  at  the  hands  of  an  English  sov- 
ereign, the  first  two  being  Peter  Paul  Rubens 
and  Anthony  Van  Dyck. 


20     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 


VIRGIL. 

England's  greatest  poet  laureate,  in 
the  lines  which  he  wrote  at  the  request  of 
the  Mantuans  for  the  nineteenth  centenary 
of  Virgil's  death,  addresses  him  as 

"Thou  that  singest  wheat  and  woodland,  tilth  and 

vineyard,  hive  and  horse  and  herd ; 
All  the  charm  of  all  the  Muses  often  flowering  in  a 

lonely  word." 

Tennyson,  in  thus  referring  to  the  great 
Roman  singer,  had  in  mind  his  Georgics, 
those  poems  on  the  labours  and  enjoyments 
of  rural  life,  which  are  generally  thought  to 
be  his  most  complete  work. 

It  is  said  that  the  Georgics  were  written 
at  the  request  of  Maecenas,  the  friend  and 
patron  of  Virgil,  in  the  hope  of  encouraging 
the  veteran  soldiers,  to  whom  land  had  been 
given   in   return  for  their  services,  in  the 


Virgil.  2 1 

peaceful  occupation  of  cultivating  their 
farms.  Virgil  hated  war,  and  in  this 
work  endeavoured  to  enthrone  labour  in 
its  place.  How  far  he  succeeded  is  ques- 
tionable. 

"It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose,"  says 
Dean  Merivale,  "  that  Virgil's  verses  induced 
any  Roman  to  put  his  hand  to  the  plough, 
or  take  from  his  bailiff  the  management  of 
his  own  estates ;  but  they  served  undoubt- 
edly to  revive  some  of  the  simple  tastes  and 
sentiments  of  the  olden  time,  and  perpetu- 
ated, amid  the  vices  and  corruptions  of  the 
Empire,  a  pure  stream  of  sober  and  inno- 
cent enjoyment." 

The  Georgics  were  begun  in  the  year 
37  B.  c.  and  occupied  seven  years  of  the 
poet's  time.  Haste  was  far  from  Virgil's 
way,  —  Tennyson   sings   of   him   as 

"  Old  Virgil,  who  would  write  ten  lines,  they  say, 
At  dawn,  and  lavish  all  the  golden  day' 
To  make  them  wealthier  in  his  readers,  eyes." 


22        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

The  poem  was  dedicated  to  Maecenas,  and 
the  distinguished  French  artist  Jalabert  has 
given  us  a  fine  picture  of  Virgil  reciting  it  to 
his  noble  patron  in  the  presence  of  Horace 
and  Varius.  Jalabert,  a  pupil  of  Paul  Dela- 
roche,  painted  this  canvas  in  Rome  and  sent 
it  to  the  Salon  of  1847,  where  it  received  a 
medal,  and,  becoming  the  property  of  the 
French  nation,  is  now  in  the  Luxembourg. 
It  shows  us  Virgil  standing,  tablets  in  hand, 
in  the  act  of  reading,  next  him  being  seated 
the  poet  Horace,  ivy-crowned,  while  Varius 
leans  against  the  pedestal  of  a  great  sculp- 
tured vase,  and  the  generous  Maecenas  sits 
on  the  right.  The  scene  appears  to  be  at 
the  beautiful  villa  of  Maecenas  at  Tivoli,  the 
favourite  summer  resort  of  the  Romans  of 
that  day.  We  know  not  which  portion  of 
his  famous  work  the  poet  is  supposed  to  be 
reciting,  but  can  easily  believe  it  to  be  those 
lines  from  the  apostrophe  to  Italy  in  the 
second  book  of  the  Georgics  : 


l^irgil,  Horace,  and  Wmiaus  at  the  House  ofMcecenas. 

From  painting  by  Charl,es  Francois  Jalabert. 


Virgil.  23 

*<  Such  the  land  which  sent  to  battle  Marsian  footmen 

stout  and  good, 
Sabine  youth,  and  Volscian  spearmen,  and  Liguria's 

hardy  brood ; 
Hence  have  sprung  our  Decii,  Marii,  mighty  names 

which  all  men  bless, 
Great  Camillus,  kinsmen   Scipios,  sternest  men   in 

battle's  press ! 
Hence  hast  thou  too  sprung,  great  Caesar,  whom  the 

farthest  East  doth  fear. 
So  that  Mede  nor  swarthy  Indian  to  our  Roman  lines 

come  near ! 
Hail,  thou  fair  and  beauteous  mother,  land  of  ancient 

Saturn,  hail ! 
Rich  in  crops  and  rich  in  heroes !  thus  I  dare  to  wake 

the  tale 
Of  thine  ancient  land  and  honour,  opening  founts 

that  slumbered  long, 
Rolling  through  our  Roman  towns  the  echoes  of  old 

Hesiod's  song." 

"Living  as  he  did  in  the  highest  society 
of  the  capital,  where  he  was  very  popular, 
Virgil  never  forgot  his  old  friends  ;  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  read  that  he  sent  money  to  his 
aged  parents  regularly  every  year.    So  highly 


^4       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

was  he  esteemed  by  his  own  contemporaries, 
that  on  one  occasion  when  he  visited  the 
theatre,  the  whole  audience  is  said  to  have 
risen  in  a  body  and  saluted  him  with  the 
same  honours  which  were  paid  to  Augustus. 
It  is  as  much  to  his  honour  that  Caligula 
should  have  ordered  all  his  busts  to  be 
banished  from  the  public  libraries,  as  that 
St.  Augustine  should  have  quoted  him  alone 
of  heathen  authors,  in  his  celebrated  *  Con- 
fessions.' " 

It  was  Virgil  who  introduced  Horace, 
lately  despoiled,  like  himself,  of  his  paternal 
property,  to  Maecenas,  whose  favour  and 
protection  he  enjoyed  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
From  Maecenas,  Horace  received  the  present 
of  a  modest  estate  in  the  Sabine  country,  — 
a  slight  gift  for  the  rich  and  powerful  minis- 
ter to  bestow,  but  beyond  price  to  the  poet, 
who  so  loved  a  country  life,  and  was  never 
weary  of  singing  the  praises  of  his  Sabine 
farm. 


Virgil.  25 

Like  Virgil,  neither  a  sycophant  nor  a  para- 
site, Horace  had  a  real  and  lasting  affection 
for  his  patron  Maecenas,  to  whom,  many 
years  before  they  were  parted  by  death's 
cold  hand,  he  addressed  these  verses : 

"  Why  wilt  thou  kill  me  with  thy  boding  fears  ? 

Why,  O  Maecenas,  why  ? 
Before  thee  lies  a  train  of  happy  years ; 

Yes,  nor  the  gods  nor  I 
Could  brook  that  thou  shouldst  first  be  laid  in  dust 
Who  art  my  stay,  my  glory,  and  my  trust ! 

"  Ah,  if  untimely  fate  should  snatch  thee  hence. 

Thee,  of  my  soul  a  part. 
Why  should  I  linger  on,  with  deadened  sense, 

And  ever  aching  heart, 
A  worthless  fragment  of  a  fallen  shrine  ? 
No,  no,  one  day  shall  see  thy  death  and  mine ! 

"  Think  not  that  I  have  sworn  a  bootless  oath ; 
Yes,  we  shall  go,  shall  go, 
Hand  linked  in  hand,  whene'er  thou  leadest,  both 
The  last  sad  road  below  I  " 

And  in  truth  it  was  but  a  few  months  after 
Maecenas  had  left  this  life  behind  him  that 


26        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

he  was  followed  by  Horace,  who  was  laid  to 
rest  in  a  corner  of  the  Esquiline,  close  to  the 
tomb  of  his  dear  friend  and  patron. 

Virgil's  recommendation  of  Horace  to  Mae- 
cenas was  seconded  by  Varius,  celebrated  as 
a  writer  of  epic  poetry,  and  for  his  tragedy 
of  "Thyestes."  He  was  one  of  those  ap- 
pointed by  Augustus  to  revise  the  -^neid, 
and  is  spoken  of  by  Horace  in  the  following 
lines : 

"  Maecenas,  Virgil,  Varius,  —  if  I  please 
In  my  poor  writings  these  and  such  as  these, — 
If  Plotius,  Valgius,  Fuscus  will  commend, 
And  good  Octavius,  I've  achieved  my  end." 

Maecenas,  whose  name  has  became  prover- 
bial for  a  munificent  friend  of  literature,  was 
of  the  highest  patrician  blood,  claiming  de- 
scent from  the  old  Etruscan  kings.  The 
confidential  adviser  and  minister  of  Augus- 
tus, he  was  also  a  man  of  great  general 
accomplishments,  well  versed  in  the  literature 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  a  lover  of  the  fine  arts 


Virgil.  27 

and  of  natural  history,  and  a  connoisseur  of 
gems  and  precious  stones.  His  great  wealth 
enabled  him  to  gratify  these  various  tastes, 
and  his  chief  relaxation  from  the  cares  of 
statesmanship  was  in  the  society  of  men  of 
letters.  To  gain  admittance  to  his  social 
circle  was  a  coveted  privilege,  for  not  only 
was  this  in  itself  a  mark  of  distinction,  but 
his  parties  were  well  known  as  the  pleasantest 
in  Rome. 

Like  many  of  the  men  of  his  time  who 
were  eminent  in  affairs,  Maecenas  wrote  much 
and  on  various  topics,  but  with  only  partial 
success.  He  shone  far  more  as  appreciator 
than  as  originator.  His  magnificent  palace 
on  the  Esquiline  hill  was  built  where  the 
church  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  now  stands, 
and  commanded  a  superb  view.  From  its 
lofty  tower  Nero  is  said  to  have  witnessed 
the  spectacle  of  Rome  in  flames  beneath  him. 
No  trace  of  it  or  of  the  patrician  villa  at 
Tivoli  now  remains,  and  he  who  represented 


28        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

the  great  Augustus  in  his  absences  from 
Rome  and  negotiated  the  peace  of  Brun- 
dusium  with  Antony,  is  best  remembered 
by  the  lines  of  the  poet  to  whom  he  had  been 
kind,  —  Horace,  the  son  of  a  slave. 


DANTE. 

Thirteen  centuries  had  passed  since  the 
death  of  Virgil  when  the  lofty  imagination  of 
Dante  chose  him  as  its  guide  through  the 
realms  of  hell.  The  two  poets,  having  made 
an  end  of  their  journey  of  terrors  and  reached 
Purgatory,  continue  until  they  perceive  a 
stately  dame  walking  along  alone.  Dante 
says : 

"  And  there  appeared  to  me  .  .  . 
A  lady  all  alone,  who  went  along 
Singing  and  culling  floweret  after  floweret, 
With  which  her  pathway  was  all  painted  over." 

A  grateful  sight,  indeed,  to  eyes  which 
had  so  lately  looked  on  the  torments  of  the 


Dante  Meeting  Matilda. 

From  painting  by  Albert  Maignan. 


Dante.  29 

damned  in  the  black  gulfs  of  the  Inferno. 
This  lady,  debonair  and  calm,  is  Matilda,  who 
acts  as  Dante's  guide  through  the  Terrestrial 
Paradise,  after  the  departure  of  Virgil  and 
before  the  appearance  of  Beatrice. 

Dante  accosts  her,  and  they  converse 
together  while  walking  along  on  either  side 
of  the  stream  of  Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion, 
which  forms  the  boundary  between  Purgatory 
and  Paradise.  Dante  is  afterward  drawn 
through  the  waters  of  Lethe  by  Matilda,  who 
then  leads  him  to  Beatrice,  first,  however, 
showing  him  the  vision  of  a  mystical  pro- 
cession, in  the  midst  of  which  Beatrice  is 
seen,  crowned  with  olive  and  wearing  a  flame- 
coloured  robe,  a  green  mantle,  and  a  white 
veil.  She  is  represented  as  standing  on  a 
chariot,  with  angels  singing  and  strewing 
flowers  over  her. 

The  commentators  on  Dante  by  no  means 
agree  as  to  the  identity  of  Matilda,  but  per- 
haps the  most  generally  accepted  theory  is 


30        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

that  she  is  meant  for  the  great  Countess 
Matilda  of  Tuscany,  the  friend  and  ally  of 
Pope  Gregory  VII.  in  his  warfare  with  the 
Roman  Empire,  and  the  munificent  benefac- 
tress of  the  Holy  See  by  the  bequest  of  her 
lands  to  the  Church. 

Matilda,  daughter  of  Boniface  III.,  Duke  of 
Tuscany,  and  Beatrice  of  Lorraine,  was  born 
in  1046,  and  in  1063  was  wedded  to  Godfrey, 
eldest  son  of  her  mother's  second  husband. 
Becoming  a  widow  in  1076,  she  married,  in 
1089,  Guelf  of  Bavaria,  from  whom  she  was 
divorced  in  1095.  It  was  at  her  mountain 
castle  of  Canossa  that  the  excommunicated 
Emperor  Henry  IV.  submitted  to  Gregory 
VII.,  and  performed  a  bitter  and  humiliating 
penance  lasting  three  days,  in  January,  1077. 
The  warlike  countess  died  childless,  in  1 1 1 5, 
at  the  age  of  sixty-nine,  and  lies  buried  in 
the  Vatican. 

The  French  artist,  Maignan's,  fine  painting 
of  Dante's  encounter  with  Matilda  was  first 


Dante.  3 1 

shown  at  the  Salon  of  1887  and  was  purchased 
by  the  state,  which  had  previously  bought 
his  picture  of  the  "  Departure  of  the  Norman 
Fleet  for  the  Conquest  of  England  in  1066." 
His  painting  of  the  dying  sculptor,  Car- 
peaux,  is  now  in  the  Luxembourg,  and  his 
"Sleep  of  Fra  Angelico,"  «'  Birth  of  the  Pearl," 
and  "Voices  of  the  Tocsin,"  well  attest  his 
possession  of  those  gifts  which  justify  the 
choice  of  a  painter's  career.  Maignan's 
"Birth  of  the  Pearl"  and  "William  the 
Conqueror"  were  included  in  the  display  of 
French  art  at  the  Chicago  Exhibition  of 
1893. 

Should  any  reader  think  an  apology  needed 
for  including  in  a  book  of  this  scope  an  illus- 
tration showing  Virgil  and  Dante  together  in 
the  underworld,  we  answer  that  we  think  it 
allowable  because,  to  those  who  know  Dante's 
great  work,  the  imaginary  journey  of  the  two 
poets  through  the  Inferno  seems  not  less  an 
actual  happening  than  the  great  Florentine's 


32        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

banishment  from  his  native  city,  or  his  sojourn 
in  exile  with  Can  Grande  at  Verona. 

The  tender  blossoms  of  the  May-time,  such 
as  fell  in  Purgatory  athwart  the  path  of  the 
dark  poet  of  hell  and  his  fair  guide-to-be, 
met  joyous  greeting  from  the  festival-loving 
Florentines  every  recurring  spring. 

It  was  on  a  May  day  in  the  year  1 274, 
that  Folco  Portinari,  one  of  the  chief  citizens 
of  Florence,  and  father  of  the  lady  whom 
Italy's  greatest  poet  has  immortalised,  gave  a 
feast  to  his  friends.  Among  the  guests  who 
shared  his  hospitality  was  Alighiero  Alighieri, 
accompanied  by  his  son  Dante,  of  the  age  of 
nine,  who  then  saw  Beatrice  Portinari  for  the 
first  time.  In  his  "  Vita  Nuova  "  ("  The  New 
Life  ")  Dante  says  :  "  She  appeared  to  me  at 
the  beginning  of  her  ninth  year,  almost,  and 
I  saw  her,  almost,  at  the  end  of  my  ninth  year. 
Her  dress,  on  that  day,  was  of  a  most  noble 
colour,  a  subdued  and  goodly  crimson,  girdled 
and  adorned  in  such  sort  as  best  suited  with 


Dante.  %% 

her  very  tender  age.  At  that  moment,  I  say, 
most  truly,  that  the  spirit  of  life,  which  hath 
its  dwelling  in  the  secretest  chamber  of  the 
heart,  began  to  tremble  so  violently  that  the 
least  pulses  of  my  body  shook  therewith  ;  and 
in  trembling  it  said  these  words  :  '  Ecce  deus 
fortior  me,  qui  veniens  dominabitur  mihi.' 
...  I  say  that,  from  that  time  forward, 
Love  quite  governed  my  soul."  The  poem 
goes  on  to  tell  how,  exactly  nine  years  later, 
"the  same  wonderful  lady  appeared  to  me, 
dressed  all  in  pure  white,  between  two  gentle 
ladies  older  than  she.  And  passing  through 
a  street,  she  turned  her  eyes  thither  where  I 
stood,  sorely  abashed ;  and  by  her  unspeak- 
able courtesy,  which  is  now  guerdoned  in  the 
Great  Cycle,  she  saluted  me  with  so  virtuous 
a  bearing  that  I  seemed  then  and  there  to 
behold  the  very  limits  of  blessedness.  The 
hour  of  her  most  sweet  salutation  was  cer- 

*  Here  is  a  deity  stronger  than  I ;  who,  coming,  shall 
rule  over  me. 


34        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

tainly  the  ninth  of  that  day ;  and  because  it 
was  the  first  time  that  any  words  from  her 
reached  mine  ears,  I  came  into  such  a  sweet- 
ness, that  I  parted  thence  as  one  intoxicated." 
The  following  sonnet,  translated,  as  are 
the  other  selections  from  the  "  Vita  Nuova  " 
here  given,  by  D.  G,  Rossetti,  describes  again 
the  salutation  of  Beatrice  : 

"  My  lady  looks  so  gentle  and  so  pure 

When  yielding  salutations  by  the  way, 

That  the  tongue  trembles  and  has  naught  to  say, 

And  the  eyes,  which  fain  would  see,  may  not  endure. 

And  still,  amid  the  praise  she  hears  secure. 

She  walks  with  humbleness  for  her  array ; 

Seeming  a  creature  sent  from  heaven  to  stay 

On  earth,  and  show  a  miracle  made  sure. 

She  is  so  pleasant  in  the  eyes  of  men 

That  through  the  sight  the  inmost  heart  doth  gain 

A  sweetness  which  needs  proof  to  know  it  by ; 

And  from  between  her  lips,  there  seems  to  move 

A  soothing  spirit  that  is  full  of  love. 

Saying  for  ever  to  the  soul,  »  O  sigh  ! '  " 

Henry  Holiday's  picture  of  Dante  meeting 
Beatrice  was  suggested  by  another  portion 


■IL  ■  .•.   • 


Dante  and  'Beatrice. 

From  painting  by  Henry  Holiday. 


Dante.  35 

of  the  poem,  wherein  is  related  how  she, 
because  of  a  false  rumour  which  had  reached 
her  concerning  Dante  and  another  lady,  de- 
nied him  her  greeting.  In  the  painting  the 
poet  is  shown  as  having  just  crossed  the 
Ponte  S.  Trinita,  when  he  meets  Beatrice 
and  two  friends  coming  along  the  Lung'  Arno 
from  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  This  ancient 
bridge,  having  been  washed  away  by  a  flood 
some  years  before,  had  been  recently  rebuilt, 
and  forms  the  principal  feature  in  the  back- 
ground of  the  picture.  The  lady  on  our  left, 
whose  hand  rests  on  Beatrice's  shoulder,  and 
who  looks  toward  the  poet  so  "stern  of 
lineament,"  is  supposed  to  be  the  Monna 
Vanna  referred  to  by  him  in  one  of  his  son- 
nets as  being  an  intimate  friend  of  his  lady's. 
"  Dante  and  Beatrice  "  was  first  exhibited 
at  the  Grosvenor  Gallery  in  1883,  and  is  now 
the  property  of  the  Walker  Art  Gallery  of 
Liverpool,  where  may  also  be  seen  Rossetti's 
picture  of  "  Dante's  Dream."     Its  author,  an 


36        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

English  artist,  is  probably  best  known  for 
his  work  in  stained  glass,  not  a  few  of  his 
windows  being  in  the  United  States. 

Every  one  knows  something  of  the  purely 
platonic  love  of  Dante  and  Beatrice,  but  some 
readers  may  not  know  that,  in  his  "  Vita 
Nuova,"  the  poet  relates  how,  being  at  a  cer- 
tain marriage  festival  in  Florence,  at  which 
Beatrice  was  also  present,  he  was  seized  with 
a  sudden  strange  trembling,  and  became 
greatly  troubled.  Rossetti  says  :  "  It  is  diffi- 
cult not  to  connect  Dante's  agony  at  this 
wedding  feast  with  our  knowledge  that,  in 
her  twenty-first  year,  Beatrice  was  wedded  to 
Simone  de'  Bardi.  That  she  herself  was  the 
bride  on  this  occasion  might  seem  out  of  the 
question  from  the  fact  of  its  not  being  in  any 
way  so  stated :  but  on  the  other  hand,  Dante's 
silence  throughout  the  'Vita  Nuova'  as 
regards  her  marriage  (which  must  have 
brought  deep  sorrow  even  to  his  ideal  love ) 
is  so  startling  that  we  might  almost  be  led  to 


Dante.  37 

conceive  in  this  passage  the  only  intimation 
of  it  which  he  thought  fit  to  give." 

Beatrice  died,  aged  twenty-four,  on  the 
9th  of  June,  1290,  and  amid  his  laments, 
Dante  has  some  curious  things  to  say  about 
the  recurrence  of  the  number  nine  in  con- 
nection with  her. 

Among  his  comments  we  find  :  "  This  num- 
ber was  her  own  self :  that  is  to  say,  by  simili- 
tude, as  thus :  The  number  three  is  the  root 
of  the  number  nine  ;  seeing  that  without  the 
interposition  of  any  other  number,  being  mul- 
tiplied merely  by  itself,  it  produceth  nine,  as 
we  manifestly  perceive  that  three  times  three 
are  nine.  Thus,  three  being  of  itself  the 
efficient  of  nine,  and  the  Great  Efficient  of 
Miracles  being  of  Himself  Three  Persons  ( to 
wit :  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Spirit),  which,  being  Three,  are  also  One, 
this  lady  was  accompanied  by  the  number 
nine  to  the  end  that  men  might  clearly  per- 
ceive her  to  be  a  nine,  that  is,  a  miracle. 


38        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

whose  only  root  is  the  Holy  Trinity.  It  may 
be  that  a  more  subtle  person  would  find  for 
this  thing  a  reason  of  greater  subtilty :  but 
such  is  the  reason  that  I  find,  and  that  liketh 
me  best."  Dante's  poem  on  the  death  of  Bea- 
trice is  more  to  our  liking  than  these  mystical 
phrases,  and  includes  this  beautiful  stanza : 

"  Beatrice  is  gone  up  into  high  heaven, 
The  kingdom  where  the  angels  are  at  peace ; 
And  lives  with  them,  and  to  her  friends  is  dead. 
Not  by  the  frost  of  winter  was  she  driven 
Away  like  others  ;  nor  by  summer  heats : 
But  through  a  perfect  gentleness,  instead. 
For  from  the  lamp  of  her  meek  lowlihead, 
Such  an  exceeding  glory  went  up  hence, 
That  it  woke  wonder  in  the  Eternal  Sire, 
Until  a  sweet  desire 
Enter'd  Him  for  that  lovely  excellence, 
So  that  He  bade  her  to  Himself  aspire : 
Counting  this  weary  and  most  evil  place 
Unworthy  of  a  thing  so  full  of  grace." 

Carlyle  says  :  "  I  know  not  in  the  world  an 
affection  equal  to  that  of  Dante.  It  is  a  ten- 
derness, a  trembling,  longing,  pitying  love, 


Dante.  39 

like  the  wail  of  iEolian  harps,  soft,  soft ;  like 
a  child's  young  heart ;  one  likens  it  to  the 
song  of  angels ;  it  is  among  the  purest  utter- 
ances of  affection,  perhaps  the  very  purest 
that  ever  came  out  of  a  human  soul." 

"Whom  first  we  love,  we  seldom  wed," 
and  Boccaccio  tells  us  that  about  a  year  after 
the  death  of  Beatrice,  Dante  was  married  to 
Gemma  Donati,  a  lady  belonging  to  one  of 
the  most  powerful  families  of  Tuscany.  By 
her  he  had  several  children,  among  them 
a  daughter,  whom  he  named  Beatrice,  in 
memory  of  his  blessed  "lady  of  all  gentle 
memories." 

Henry  Sewell  Stokes,  a  little-known  Eng- 
ish  poet,  wrote  this  sonnet  about  the  second 
Beatrice : 

"  Twas  in  Ravenna  Dante's  daughter  dwelt, 
Under  the  shadow  of  St.  Stephen's  tower, 
Poor  and  forlorn,  her  name  the  only  dower 
From  him  beside  whose  tomb  she  often  knelt. 
Florence,  repenting  late,  compassion  felt, 
And  thence  one  day  a  stranger  came  with  gold, 


40        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Which  to  the  nun,  so  saintly  and  so  cold, 

He  proffered  smiling,  while  his  heart  did  melt. 

No  other  than  Boccaccio  brought  the  gift, 

Who  as  a  son  revered  and  loved  her  sire ; 

And  when  she  did  her  hood  all  meekly  lift 

To  render  grateful  answer  and  retire, 

He  by  the  father's  portrait  knew  the  child. 

And  wept,  as  she  returned  her  thanks  and  smiled." 


PETRARCH. 

Like  Dante,  Petrarch  loved  for  many 
years,  with  a  pure  and  virtuous  affection,  one 
who  was  the  wife  of  another,  and  unlike 
Dante,  he  remained  faithful  to  the  memory 
of  his  lady  all  his  life. 

At  twenty-two  years  of  age,  he  visited 
Avignon,  and  first  beheld  Laura  de  Noves, 
then  in  her  eighteenth  year,  in  the  church  of 
the  nunnery  of  St.  Claire.  Her  beauty  kin- 
dled a  flame  in  the  ardent  soul  of  the  young 
poet,  which  time  was  powerless  to  subdue, 
but   which  he  expressed  only  in  his  verse. 


Petrarch.  4 1 

Laura  married  Hugues  de  Sade,  a  gentleman 
of  Avignon,  and  is  not  known  ever  to  have 
bestowed  on  Petrarch  any  favours  exceeding 
those  of  self-respecting  friendship.  He  was 
not  a  visitor  at  her  home,  nor  did  he  see  her 
except  at  mass,  or  at  the  brilliant  levees 
of  the  pope,  yet  she  for  ever  remained  the 
controlling  influence  of  his  life. 

The  brilliant  author  of  "An  Englishman 
in  Paris"  gives  us  a  striking  picture  of  Pe- 
trarch's passion  in  the  following  lines : 

"Love  not  only  led,  but  followed  him 
everywhere  ;  love  was  part  of  himself.  In 
the  sombre  forest,  by  the  babbling  brook, 
under  the  burning  sun  of  Provence,  or 
toward  the  close  of  the  day,  when  twilight, 
calm  and  serene,  seemed  to  invite  sweet  rev- 
eries, at  all  hours,  in  all  spots,  Laura's  lover 
was  always  the  same.  Ever  giving  the  rein 
to  his  imagination,  he  fruitlessly  sought  in 
nature  a  balm  for  his  sufferings ;  the  still, 
small  voice  of  his  heart  brought  him  back  to 


42        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

the  adored  image  and  closed  his  eyes  to  the 
beauty  of  the  landscape,  or  if,  for  a  moment, 
it  beguiled  him  into  bestowing  a  more  than 
cursory  glance  at  the  valleys  stretched  at  his 
feet,  at  the  mountains  rearing  their  wooded 
crowns  above  him,  at  the  flowery  plains, 
golden  with  the  setting  sun,  and  melting  into 
one  with  the  horizon,  at  the  clouds  sailing 
aloft,  in  every  object  he  beheld  something  of 
Laura.  In  the  amber  corn  he  saw  her  blond 
tresses,  in  the  murmur  of  the  rustling  leaves 
he  heard  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  ;  the  low 
chant  of  the  brook,  whose  limpid  spray  kissed 
the  yellow  sand,  reminded  him  of  the  velvety 
accent  of  her  voice.  Often  swayed  by  the 
illusion,  he  spoke  to  Laura  as  if  she  were 
near  him,  and  was  surprised  that  her  answer 
fell  not  upon  his  ear.  Thus  travel,  instead 
of  calming,  instead  of  curing  him,  increased 
his  trouble  and  agitation.  Each  morn  he 
left  the  shelter  where  he  had  passed  the 
night ;  each  morn  he  took  up  his  pilgrinj's 


Petrarch.  43 

staff ;  new  horizons  unrolled  themselves  be- 
fore his  eyes ;  he  chastised,  almost  broke, 
his  body  with  fatigue,  but  could  not  succeed 
in  driving  from  his  heart  the  image  of  the 
adored  one;  until,  tired  of  the  perpetual 
struggle,  he  began  to  regret  the  very  air 
Laura  breathed,  the  paths  her  foot  pressed, 
the  protecting  hedges  behind  which  he  had 
hidden  himself  to  watch  her  beauteous  front, 
the  cherry  lips  which  a  jealous  veil  in  vain 
concealed  from  the  eager  curiosity  of  the 
lover.  He  even  regretted  the  reproaches, 
the  impatience,  the  anger  he  had  read  in 
her  looks.  His  sufferings,  with  which  he 
had  taunted  Heaven  as  with  so  many  injus- 
tices, now  returned  to  his  memory  like  bliss- 
ful moments,  like  hours  of  delight,  for  which 
he  should  have  been  grateful ;  and  he  craved 
pardon  of  God  for  having  blasphemed,  for 
having  misprized  his  happiness,  and  heart 
and  mind  humbly  craved  from  his  Maker  a 
repetition  of  the  torturing  ecstasy. 


44        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"Such,  be  it  remembered,  is  the  digest, 
culled  from  his  own  compositions,  of  Pe- 
trarch's intro-  and  retrospect  of  his  daily 
martyrdom,  varied  by  beatific,  we  might  say 
apocalyptic,  visions." 

From  the  many  journeys  which  he  made  to 
Italy,  to  Spain,  and  to  Flanders,  he  always 
returned  to  his  home  at  Vaucluse,  near 
Avignon,  and  to  Laura.  She  died  in  1347, 
during  the  poet's  absence,  but  he  always 
cherished  her  image  in  his  heart  and  dedi- 
cated many  lines  to  her  dear  memory,  long 
after  she  had  gone  from  earth. 

"  Once  more,  ye  balmy  gales,  I  feel  ye  blow ; 
Again,  sweet  hills,  I  mark  the  morning  beams 
Gild  your  green  summits  ;  while  your  silver  streams 
Through  vales  of  fragrance  undulating  flow. 
But  you,  ye  dreams  of  bliss,  no  longer  here  < 

Give  life  and  beauty  to  liie  glowing  scene ; 
For  stern  remembrance  stands  where  you  have  been, 
And  blasts  the  verdure  of  the  blooming  year. 
O  Laura !  Laura !  in  the  dust  with  thee. 
Would  I  could  find  a  refuge  from  despair  I 


The  Presentation  of  Petrarch  and  Laura. 

From  painting  by  Vacslav  Brozik. 


Petrarch.  45 

Is  this  thy  boasted  triumph,  Love,  to  tear 
A  heart  thy  coward  malice  dares  not  free ; 
And  bid  it  live,  while  every  hope  is  fled, 
To  weep,  among  the  ashes  of  the  dead  ? " 

In  the  picture  which  Brozik  has  painted 
of  these  two  famous  lovers,  —  if  we  may 
thus  class  the  lady  who  accepted,  but  did  not 
requite  the  homage  of  the  poet,  —  we  are 
shown  a  spacious  and  richly  furnished  apart- 
ment in  the  chateau  of  the  popes  at  Avignon. 

• 

The  seat  of  the  pontifical  government  had  in 
1309  been  transferred  from  Rome  to  Avi- 
gnon, because  of  the  increasing  civic  and 
national  dissensions  which  distracted  the 
Eternal  City.  Clement  VI.,  a  Frenchman, 
in  whose  reign  Rienzi  made  his  noble,  but 
unavailing,  attempt  to  restore  to  Rome  her 
ancient  republican  form  of  government, 
was  the  fourth  of  the  Avignon  popes.  It 
is  he  whom  we  see  standing  in  the  centre  of 
the  painting,  between  Petrarch  and  the  newly 
elected  emperor,  Charles   IV.     Charles,  the 


46        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

son  of  the  blind  old  king,  John  of  Bohemia, 
who  had  fallen  fighting  valiantly  at  Crecy, 
was  a  generous  protector  of  literature,  and 
founded  universities  at  Vienna  and  Prague. 
As  a  ruler,  however,  he  fell  far  short  of  per- 
fection, being  too  subservient  to  Clement, 
and  so  much  occupied  in  aggrandising  him- 
self and  his  family  that  he  neglected  his 
kingly  duties.  Charles  gained  the  nickname 
of  the  "  Pope's  Kaiser  "  because  he  owed  his 
election  as  emperor  to  Clement,  who  nomi- 
nated him  without  consulting  the  electors,  and 
excommunicated  his  rival,  Louis  of  Bavaria. 
Avarice  was  his  chief  failing,  and  he  was 
said  to  have  bought  the  empire  by  wholesale, 
to  have  held  it  as  a  usurer,  and  to  have  sold 
it  at  retail.  It  was  he  who,  in  1356,  pub- 
lished at  Nuremberg  the  famous  "Golden 
Bull,"  which  was  thenceforth  the  fundamental 
law  of  the  German  Empire.  Though  he  ex- 
hibited nothing  of  the  knightly  spirit  of  his 
father,  he   was   a   personable   king  enough, 


Petrarch.  47 

and  at  the  time  of  our  picture  was  about 
thirty  years  old,  being  some  three  years 
younger  than  Petrarch. 

Brozik,  a  Bohemian  artist  and  a  pupil  of 
Piloty,  has  painted  several  large  canvases 
of  a  similar  type  to  the  "  Presentation  of  Pe- 
trarch and  Laura,"  in  which  a  crowd  of  figures 
in  picturesque  costumes  are  skilfully  dis- 
posed amid  surroundings  of  a  richly  deco- 
rative nature.  He  won  a  second-class  medal 
at  the  Paris  Salon  of  1878,  with  his  "  Embassy 
of  King  Ladislas  at  the  Court  of  Charles  VII. 
of  France,"  which  is  now  in  the  National  Gal- 
lery of  Berlin.  Another  huge  and  sumptuous 
work  of  this  nature  is  his  "  Columbus  at  the 
Court  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,"  arguing  in 
favour  of  his  proposed  voyage  in  search  of  a 
new  continent,  which  was  given  to  the  Met- 
ropolitan Museum  of  Art  in  New  York,  a 
few  years  ago,  by  Mr.  Morris  K.  Jesup. 
The  city  of  Prague,  in  whose  School  of  Fine 
Arts   he   was  once   a  pupil,   owns   Brozik's 


48        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  Condemnation  of  John  Huss  by  the  Council 
of  Constance,  141 5,"  and  one  of  his  latest 
achievements,  shown  at  the  Salon  of  1900, 
is  the  "Proclamation  of  George  Podiebrad 
as  King  of  Bohemia,   1457." 


BOCCACCIO. 

"From  Dante  through  Petrarch  to  Boc- 
caccio, from  Beatrice  through  Laura  to  La 
Fiammetta,  —  from  woman  as  an  allegory 
of  the  noblest  thoughts  and  purest  striv- 
ings of  the  soul,  through  woman  as  the 
symbol  of  all  beauty,  worshipped  at  a 
distance,  to  woman  as  man's  lover,  kindling 
and  reciprocating  passionate  desire,"  writes 
Symonds,  and  this  is  the  path  we  have 
followed. 

Boccaccio's  Fiammetta  ("  Fiammetta  "  is  an 
affectionate  epithet  meaning  "  little  flame  ") 
was  in  reality  Maria  d' Aquino,  who  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  a  natural   daughter  of 


Boccaccio.  49 

Robert  of  Anjou,  King  of  Naples.  Like 
Laura,  she  was  married  (in  this  case  we 
know  not  who  her  husband  was),  and  Boc- 
caccio, like  Petrarch,  first  saw  his  love  in 
church,  —  that  of  San  Lorenzo  at  Naples, 
on  the  morning  of  an  Easter  eve.  Although 
we  have  scarcely  any  reliable  information  as 
to  the  actual  relations  between  Boccaccio  and 
his  lady,  there  is  no  doubt  that  she  willed  a 
powerful  influence  upon  his  mind  and  heart. 
"  She  certainly  inspired  him  to  compose  the 
principal  Italian  works  of  his  early  man- 
hood. .  .  .  Even  in  his  masterpiece,  the 
"  Decameron,"  composed  when  her  influence 
was  clearly  on  the  wane,  he  pays  her  hom- 
age. In  fact,  he  chose  her  for  his  Muse, 
as  poets  in  those  days  were  wont  to  choose 
one  lady  around  whose  image  they  allowed 
their  thoughts  and  sentiments  to  crystallise 
until  the  vision  became  for  them  something 
|)etw6^n  a  reality  and  an  ideal." 

Th^    beautiful    sonnet,   which    Boccaccio 


5©        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

addressed    to     Fiammetta,    Dante     Gabriel 
Rossetti  has  translated : 

«  Round  her  red  garland  and  her  golden  hair 
I  saw  a  fire  about  Fiammetta's  head ; 
Thence  to  a  little  cloud  I  watch 'd  it  fade, 
Than  silver  or  than  gold  more  brightly  fair; 
And  like  a  pearl  that  a  gold  ring  doth  bear, 
Even  so  an  angel  sat  therein,  who  sped 
Alone  and  glorious  throughout  heaven,  array'd 
In  sapphires  and  in  gold  that  lit  the  air ; 
Then  I  rejoiced  as  hoping  happy  things, 
Who  rather  should  have  then  discern'd  how  God 
Had  haste  to  make  my  lady  all  his  own, 
Even  as  it  came  to  pass.     And  with  these  stings 
Of  sorrow  and  with  life's  most  weary  load 
I  dwell,  who  fain  would  be  where  she  is  gone." 

Rossetti  says :  "  There  is  nothing  that 
gives  Boccaccio  greater  claim  to  our  regard 
than  the  enthusiastic  reverence  with  which 
he  loved  to  dwell  on  the  'Commedia'  and 
on  the  memory  of  Dante,  who  died  when 
he  was  seven  years  old.  This  is  amply 
proved  by  his  '  Life  of  the  Poet  and  Com- 


I5occaccio.  S 1 

mentary  on  the  Poem,'  as  well  as  by  other 
passages  in  his  writings,  both  in  prose  and 
poetry." 

In  1373,  when  Boccaccio  was  sixty  years 
old,  some  citizens  of  Florence  obtained  per- 
mission from  the  government  to  found  a  chair 
for  the  public  reading  and  exposition  of  the 
"  Divine  Comedy,"  and  Boccaccio  was  aj)- 
pointed  the  first  reader.  He  began  to 
lecture  in  the  church  of  San  Stefano  on 
October  23d  and  occupied  the  professorship 
until  the  spring  of  1375. 

We  quote  here  his  sonnet  upon  Dante : 

*  Dante  am  I,  —  Minerva's  son,  who  knew 
With  skill  and  genius  (though  in  style  obscure) 
And  elegance  maternal  to  mature 
My  toil,  a  miracle  to  mortal  view. 
Through  realms  tartarean  and  celestial  flew 
My  lofty  fancy,  swift-winged  and  secure : 
And  ever  shall  ray  noble  work  endure, 
Fit  to  be  read  of  men,  and  angels  too. 
Florence  my  earthly  mother's  glorious  name : 
Step-dame  to  me,  —  whom  from  her  side  she 
thrust, 


52        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Her  duteous  son :  bear  slanderous  tongues  the 

blame : 
Ravenna  housed  my  exile,  holds  my  dust : 
My  spirit  is  with  Him  from  whom  it  came,  — 
A  Parent  envy  cannot  make  unjust." 

Boccaccio,  the  great  prose-writer  of  "the 
three  founders  of  modern  literature,"  all  of 
whom  were  Florentines,  not  only  revered 
Dante,  but  his  most  intimate  friend  was 
Petrarch,  to  whom  in  1359  ^^  sent  a  copy 
of  the  "Divine  Comedy"  transcribed  with 
his  own  hand.  The  news  of  Petrarch's 
death  was  a  severe  blow  to  him,  and  it  was 
but  a  few  months  ere  he  followed  his  old 
friend  upon  that  journey  from  which  none 
return. 

Symonds  says :  "The  author  of  the  'Decam- 
eron '  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  story- 
tellers whom  the  world  has  seen ;  and  telling 
stories  formed  a  favourite  pastime  with  gentle- 
men  and  women  of  the  fourteenth  century." 
It   being   remembered   that    Boccaccio    died 


'Boccaccio. 

From  painting  by  A.  CassiolL 


1      ^/            T4 

L 

i  1 

^^^ 

i 

IS 

•^ 

^tm         •             '*' 

P^^y 

''■^■' 

^■^- ' 

Tasso.  %% 

long  before  the  invention  of  printing,  it  will 
readily  be  seen  that  Signor  Cassioli,  the 
distinguished  Italian  painter,  has  full  warrant 
for  representing  him  as  telling  a  merry  tale 
to  a  company  of  delighted  listeners  in  some 
noble  house. 

Cassioli  was  a  historical  painter  whose  life 
lay  between  the  years  1838  and  1891,  and 
who  was  a  professor  in  the  Florence  Acad- 
emy of  Fine  Arts.  He  painted  numerous 
historical  works,  but  is  probably  better 
known  to  the  general  public  by  his  picture 
of  "  Mary  Stuart  and  Rizzio,"  and  of  "  Fran- 
cesca  da  Rimini,"  and  by  this  one  of  Boc- 
caccio entrancing  an  admiring  audience,  with 
whom  the  great  novelist  smiles  in  sympathy. 

TASSO. 

Two  strongly  contrasted  scenes  from  the 
life  of  Tasso  are  familiar  to  us,  and  it  is 
seldom  that  we  see  one  represented  without 


54       The  Great  Masters  of  LiteratuVi. 

recalling  the  other.  In  the  first  the  poet, 
still  young  but  of  wide  renown,  is  a  gentle- 
man of  the  household  at  the  brilliant  court 
of  his  patron,  Alphonso  II.  of  Este,  at 
Ferrara.  In  high  favour-  with  the  duke, 
he  is  also  honoured  by  the  intimate  ac- 
quaintance of  the  two  unmarried  sisters  of 
Alphonso,  the  beautiful  and  accomplished 
Princesses  Lucrezia  and  Leonora,  and  re- 
cites to  them  upon  completion  the  succes- 
sive cantos  of  his  great  epic  poem  of 
"Jerusalem  Delivered"  and  other  produc- 
tions of  his  muse.  Legend,  in  this  case 
with  some  historic  foundation,  asserts  that 
the  poet  nourished  an  ardent  passion  for 
the  Princess  Leonora. 

The  second  scene  shows  us  the  unhappy 
Tasso  confined  as  a  madman  in  a  cell,  in 
the  hospital  of  St.  Anna,  where  he  was 
kept  a  prisoner  for  seven  years,  the  beauti- 
ful Leonora  dying  in  the  second  year  of  his 
imprisonment. 


Tasso.  5  5 

From  his  gloomy  madhouse  the  high- 
souled  poet  addressed  some  most  moving 
appeals  to  the  princes  whose  favour  had 
been  bestowed  on  him  in  happier  days. 

**  Oh,  miserable  that  I  am,"  he  breaks  out 
in  a  letter  to  Scipio  Gonzaga,  "  I  had  de- 
signed to  write  two  epic  poems  of  most 
noble  and  glorious  argument,  four  tragedies, 
of  which  I  had  already  formed  the  plan,  and 
many  works  in  prose,  on  subjects  of  highest 
beauty  and  greatest  advantage  to  human 
life :  and  so  to  unite  eloquence  with  phi- 
losophy as  to  leave  of  myself  an  eternal 
memory  in  the  world,  and  I  had  set  before 
myself  a  most  exalted  measure  of  glory  and 
honour.  But  now,  oppressed  beneath  the 
weight  of  such  intolerable  calamities,  I 
abandon  every  thought  of  glory  and  honour, 
and  most  happy  should  I  count  myself  if, 
without  suspicion,  I  could  only  allay  the 
thirst  by  which  I  am  continually  tormented  ; 
and  if,  as  one  of  the  ordinary  race  of  men. 


56        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

I  could  in  some  poor  cot  spend  my  life  in 
liberty;  if  not  sane,  which  I  cannot  more 
be,  yet  at  least  no  more  in  such  agonising 
weakness ;  if  not  honoured,  yet  at  least  not 
abhorred ;  if  not  with  the  rights  of  men, 
yet  at  least  with  those  of  brutes,  who  in 
the  rivers  and  the  fountains  can  freely 
quench  their  thirst,  with  which  (and  it 
eases  me  to  reecho  it)  I  am  all  on  fire. 
Nor  do  I  now  so  much  fear  the  greatness 
of  my  anguish  as  its  continuance,  which 
ever  presents  itself  horribly  before  my 
mind,  especially  as  I  feel  that  in  such  a 
state  I  am  unfit  to  write  or  labour.  And 
the  dread  of  endless  imprisonment  fear- 
fully increases  my  misery,  and  the  indig- 
nity to  which  I  must  submit  increases  it, 
and  the  foulness  of  my  beard,  and  my  hair, 
and  my  dress,  and  the  filth,  and  the  damp, 
annoy  me ;  and,  above  all,  the  solitude  af- 
flicts me,  my  cruel  and  natural  enemy,  by 
which,  even  in  my  prosperity,   I  was  often 


Tasso.  57 

so  troubled,  that   in   unseasonable   hours   I 
would  go  and  seek  or  find  society." 

Another  touching  cry  for  aid  is  the  fol- 
lowing : 

TO  THE  PRINCESSES  OF  FERRARA. 

"  Fair  daughters  of  Rdnde  !  my  song 

Is  not  of  pride  and  ire, 
Fraternal  discord,  hate,  and  wrong, 
Burning  in  life  and  death  so  strong, 

From  rule's  accurst  desire, 
That  even  the  flames  divided  long 

Upon  their  funeral  pyre. 
But  you  I  sing,  of  royal  birth, 

Nursed  on  one  breast  like  them ; 
Two  flowers,  both  lovely,  blooming  forth 

From  the  same  parent  stem,  — 
Cherished  by  heaven,  beloved  by  earth, 

Of  each  a  treasured  gem  ! 

"  To  you  I  speak  in  whom  we  see 

With  wondrous  concord  blend 
Sense,  worth,  fame,  beauty,  modesty, 

Imploring  you  to  lend 
Compassion  to  the  misery 

And  sufferings  of  your  friend. 


58        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

The  memory  of  years  gone  by, 
O,  let  me  in  your  hearts  renew,  — 

The  scenes,  the  thoughts,  o'er  which  I  sigh, 
The  happy  days  I  spent  with  you,  — 

And  what  I  was,  and  why  secluded ; 

Whom  did  I  trust,  and  who  deluded  ? 

"  Daughters  of  heroes  and  of  kings. 

Allow  me  to  recall 
These  and  a  thousand  other  things,  — 

Sad,  sweet,  and  mournful  all ! 
From  me  few  words,  more  tears,  grief  wrings,  • 

Tears  burning  as  they  fall. 
For  royal  halls  and  festive  bowers, 

Where,  nobly  serving,  I 
Shared  and  beguiled  your  private  hours, 

Studies  and  sports  I  sigh ; 
And  lyre,  and  trump,  and  wreathed  flowers; 
Nay,  more,  for  freedom,  health,  applause, 
And  even  humanity's  lost  laws  ! 

"  Why  am  I  chased  from  human  kind  ? 

What  Circe  in  the  lair 
Of  brutes  thus  keeps  me  spell-confined  ? 

Nests  have  the  birds  of  air. 
The  very  beasts  in  caverns  find 

Shelter  and  rest,  and  share 
At  least  kind  nature's  gifts  and  laws, 


7asso  at  Ferrara. 

From  painting  by  Ferdinand  Barth. 


Tasso.  59 

For  each  his  food  and  water  draws 

From  wood  and  fountain,  where 
Wholesome  and  pure  and  safe  it  was 

Furnished  by  Heaven's  own  care ; 
And  all  is  bright  and  blest,  because 

Freedom  a.nd  health  are  there ! 

*  I  merit  punishment,  I  own ; 

I  erred,  I  must  confess  it ;  yet 
The  fault  was  in  the  tongue  alone, 

The  heart  is  true.  Forgive !  Forget ! 
I  beg  for  mercy,  and  my  woes 

May  claim  with  pity  to  be  heard ; 
If  to  my  prayers  your  ears  you  close, 

Where  can  I  hope  for  one  kind  word 
In  my  extremity  of  ill  ? 

And  if  the  pang  of  hope  deferred 
Arise  from  discord  in  your  will, 
For  me  must  be  revived  again 
The  fate  of  Metius  and  the  pain. 

"  I  pray  you,  then ;  renew  for  me 

The  charm  that  made  you  doubly  fair, 
In  sweet  and  virtuous  harmony 
Urging,  resistlessly,  my  prayer; 
With  him  for  whose  loved  sake,  I  swear, 
I  more  lament  my  fault  than  pains, 
Strange  and  unheard  of  as  they  are.  '* 


6o        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

The  artist,  Ferdinand  Barth,  who  has 
painted  our  picture  of  Tasso,  is  a  German, 
and  was  a  pupil  of  the  famous  Piloty.  His 
most  noted  picture  is  one  depicting  the 
casket  scene  from  "The  Merchant  of 
Venice,"  but  his  "  Paganini  in  Prison "  is 
also  a  work   worthy   of   regard. 

CHAUCER. 

John  of  Gaunt,  the  fourth  son  of  Edward 
the  Third  and  the  good  Queen  Philippa  of 
Hainault,  was  the  firm  friend  and  patron 
of  two  great  Englishmen,  —  John  Wyclif,  the 
first  translator  of  the  Bible  into  English,  and 
Geoffrey  Chaucer,  "the  morning  star  of 
English  poetry."  John,  called  of  "Gaunt" 
because  he  was  born  at  Ghent,  in  Flanders, 
which  the  common  people  so  pronounced, 
married  Blanche,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Lancaster,  through  whom  that  title  later 
came    to   John.     At   her   decease,    Chaucer 


Chaucer.  6 1 

wrote  his  poem  on  "  The  Dethe  of  Blaunche 
the  Duchesse."  John  of  Gaunt's  second 
matrimonial  alliance  was  with  Constance, 
a  princess  of  Spain,  after  whose  death  he 
espoused  Catherine  Swynford,  the  sister  of 
Chaucer's  wife,  who  was  one  of  the  ladies- 
in-waiting  of  Queen  Philippa,  was  named 
Philippa,  and  was,  probably,  herself  a  native 
of  Hainault. 

Chaucer  held  office  of  one  kind  or  another 
under  three  kings,  Edward  III.,  Richard  II., 
and  Henry  IV.,  and  was  several  times  sent 
abroad  on  diplomatic  missions.  On  one  of 
these  occasions  he  spent  some  time  in  Italy, 
and  is  thought  to  have  met  Petrarch. 

Ford  Madox  Brown,  a  Pre-Raphaelite 
painter,  though  never  actually  a  member  of 
the  famous  Pre-Raphaelite  Brotherhood,  and 
an  artist  too  little  known  in  the  United 
States,  sent  to  the  Royal  Academy,  in  1851, 
a  painting  which  he  named  "  Chaucer  at  the 
Court  of  Edward  III." 


62        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

This  remarkable  work  was  purchased  a 
number  of  years  later  for  the  National  Art 
Gallery  of  New  South  Wales,  at  Sydney, 
where  it  now  hangs,  and  recalls  to  the  Colo- 
nial or  the  visitor  from  England's  shore  two 
of  her  ancient  glories  —  a  brightening  one  of 
letters  and  a  fading  one  of  arms  —  in  its 
presentment  of  Chaucer  and  of  the  Black 
Prince. 

Our  description  of  the  picture  is  based 
upon  the  painter's  own  words  in  the  cata- 
logue of  his  pictures  exhibited  in  London  in 
1865.  The  poet  is  supposed  to  be  reading 
these  lines  from  the  "  Legend  of  Custance," 
told  by  the  man  of  law  in  the  "  Canterbury 
Tales : " 

"  Hire  litel  child  lay  weping  on  hire  arm, 
And  kneling  pitously  to  him  she  said, 
Pees,  litel  sone,  I  wol  do  thee  no  harm. 
With  that  hire  coverchief  of  hire  hed  she  braid 
And  over  his  litel  eyen  she  it  laid, 
And  in  hire  arme  she  lulleth  it  ful  fast, 
And  unto  the  heven  hire  eyen  up  she  cast." 


Chaw^r  at  the  Court  of  Edward  III 

From  painting  l>y  Ford  Madox  Brown. 


Chaucer.  63 

John  of  Gaunt,  in  armour  and  richly  bla- 
zoned tabard,  stands  next  to  Chaucer,  and 
beneath  a  stately  Gothic  canopy  sits  Edward 
III.  His  queen,  the  good  Philippa,  is  dead, 
and  the  bold-faced  lady  on  his  right  is  Alice 
Ferrers,  who  had  been  attached  to  her  train, 
and  for  whom  the  old  king  evinced  a  foolish 
passion,  —  "a  cause  of  scandal  to  the  court, 
such  as,  repeating  itself  at  intervals  in  history 
with  remarkable  similarity  from  David  down- 
ward, seems  to  argue  that  the  untimely  death 
of  a  hero  may  not  be  altogether  so  deplora- 
ble an  event."  The  historians  say  that  this 
mercenary  favourite  took  the  very  ring  from 
Edward's  finger  as  he  lay  dying,  and  left  him 
to  be  pillaged  by  his  faithless  servants.  The 
fair  lady  on  the  king's  left  hand,  who  wears  a 
coronet,  is  Joan,  called  the  "Fair  Maid  of 
Kent,"  only  daughter  of  Edward  of  Wood- 
stock, Earl  of  Kent.  She  was  a  widow  when 
she  married  her  cousin,  Edward  the  Black 
Prince,  by  whom  she  became  the  mother  of 


64        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Richard  II.,  who  is  seen  in  the  picture  as  a 
child  at  her  knee.  "  There  had  been  much 
opposition  to  their  union,  but  the  prince 
ultimately  had  his  own  way."  The  hero  of 
Crecy  and  Poitiers,  supposed  to  be  in  his 
last  illness  and  much  emaciated,  leans  on 
his  wife's  lap  and  listens  intently  to  the 
poet's  lines. 

Seated  beneath  these  royalties  are  various 
personages  suited  to  the  time  and  place. 
By  the  fountain  a  young  troubadour  from 
the  south  of  France,  half  jealous  and  half 
admiring,  looks  up  to  Chaucer  ;  on  his 
left  two  ladies  listen  to  an  ecclesiastic, 
who  points  mockingly  to  the  jester,  for- 
getting his  part  in  rapt  attention  to  the 
reader ;  next  him  two  dilettante  courtiers 
are  learnedly  criticising,  the  one  in  the 
hood  being  meant  for  the  poet  Gower, 
Chaucer's  friend.  Lastly,  on  the  left,  a 
youthful  squire  whispers  soft  words  to  his 
mistress. 


Chaucer.  65 

Chaucer  thus  describes  him  : 

"...  a  youngd  Squire, 
A  lover  and  a  lusty  bacholer, 
With  lockds  cruU,  as  they  were  laid  in  press, 
Of  twenty  year  of  age  he  was  I  guess. 
Of  his  stature  he  was  of  even  length, 
And  wonderly  deliver  and  great  of  strength ; 
And  he  had  been  some  time  in  Chevachie, 
In  Flandres,  in  Artois,  and  in  Picardy, 
And  borne  him  well,  as  of  so  little  space, 
In  hope  to  standen  in  his  lady's  grace. 
Embroidered  was  he,  as  it  were  a  mead 
All  full  of  freshd  flowers  white  and  red. 
Singing  he  was  or  fluting  all  the  day. 
He  was  as  fresh  as  is  the  month  of  May, 
Short  was  his  gown,  with  sleevds  long  and  wide ; 
Well  could  he  sit  on  horse,  and  faird  ride. 
He  couldd  song^s  well  make,  and  indite. 
Joust,  and  eke  dance,  and  well  pourtray  and  write. 
So  hot  he  lovdd,  that  by  nightertale 
He  slept  no  more  than  doth  the  nightingale. 
Courteous  he  was,  lowly  and  serviceable. 
And  carved  before  his  father  at  the  table." 

Many   other  minor  characters  are   intro- 
duced, and  there  is  a  wealth  of  detail  which 


66        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

escapes  the  eye  in  our  necessarily  small  re- 
production. Sitting  on  the  ground  being 
common  in  those  days,  rushes  were  strewn 
to  prevent  the  gentlemen  from  spoiling  their 
fine  clothes. 

The  head  of  Chaucer  was  studied  from  the 
poet-painter,  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti,  and  that 
of  the  troubadour  is  a  portrait  of  his  brother, 
William  Michael  Rossetti,  distinguished  as  a 
writer  and  critic,  who  married  one  of  the 
artist's  daughters. 

Ford  Madox  Brown  died  in  1893,  having 
passed  three  score  years  and  ten,  after  a  life 
of  hard  and  high-aimed  work,  but  illy  repaid 
in  wealth  or  fame.  The  National  Gallery 
owns  his  picture  of  "  Christ  Washing  Peter's 
Feet,"  presented  soon  after  his  death  by  a 
number  of  friends  and  admirers ;  "  Elijah 
and  the  Widow's  Son "  is  in  the  South 
Kensington  Museum  ;  Birmingham  has  that 
pathetic  page  of  life  which  the  artist  called 
"  The   Last   of   England,"   and   Manchester 


More.  67 

the  Carlylean  "Work,"  in  which  is  intro- 
duced the  figure  of  the  "  Sage  of  Chelsea." 
The  great  cotton  city  also  possesses,  in  her 
noble  town  hall,  Madox  Brown's  striking 
series  of  wall  paintings,  illustrating  the  his- 
tory of  Manchester,  the  work  of  the  last  years 
of  this  strong  and  original  master. 

MORE. 

Of  all  the  great  ones  whose  lives  were  cut 
short  on  Tower  Hill  by  the  headsman's  axe, 
few,  if  any,  are  more  worthy  of  our  reverence 
than  Sir  Thomas  More,  who  met  death  there 
in  1535.  Once  Lord  High  Chancellor  of 
England,  he  suffered  because  his  conscience 
forbade  him  to  acknowledge  the  validity  of 
Henry's  marriage  to  Anne  Bullen,  or  to  rec- 
ognise the  king's  supremacy  as  head  of  the 
Church. 

Apart  from  his  connection  with  Henry 
Vni.,  More  is  better  known  to-day  through 


6B        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

his  friendship  with  Erasmus  and  Holbein 
than  by  his  writings.  Of  these,  the  most 
famous  is  the  political  romance  of  "  Utopia," 
which  describes  an  imaginary  island  where 
everything  —  laws,  politics,  morals,  institu- 
tions, and  so  on  —  is  perfect. 

A  singularly  happy  man  in  his  home-life 
was  More,  and  deeply  attached  to  his  chil- 
dren. He  had  but  one  son,  John,  but  re- 
joiced in  three  daughters,  of  whom  his 
favourite  was  the  eldest,  Margaret,  noted 
for  learning  and  virtue,  and  who  resembled 
her  father  most  in  looks  as  well  as  in  mind. 
She  married  William  Roper,  "  a  man  of  good 
fortune  and  blameless  morals,  and  with  an 
inclination  to  learning,"  who  wrote  an  invalu- 
able biography  of  Sir  Thomas.  In  it  he 
describes  the  episode  which  the  artist  has 
painted  of  More  and  his  daughter  in  prison. 
Roper  says : 

"  Sir  Thomas  More  being  now  prisoner  in 
the  Tower,  and  one  daye  looking  forth  at  his 


Sir  Thomas  Oviore  and  His  Danghn  r 

From  painting  liy  J.  R.  Herbert. 


More.  69 

window,  saw  a  father  of  Syon  and  three 
monkes  going  out  of  the  Tower  to  execution, 
for  that  they  had  refused  the  oath  of  suprem- 
acy ;  whereupo,  he,  languishing  it  were  with 
desire  to  beare  them  company,  said  unto  his 
daughter  Roper,  then  present,  *  Looke,  Megge, 
doest  thou  not  see  that  these  blessed  fathers 
be  now  going  as  cheerfully  to  theyr  deathes  as 
bridegrooms  to  theyr  marriage  ?  by  which  thou 
mayst  see  (myne  owne  good  daughter)  what 
a  great  difference  there  is  between  such  as 
have  spent  all  theyr  dayes  in  a  religious,  hard, 
and  penitential  life,  and  such  as  have  in  this 
world  like  wretches  (as  thy  poore  father  here 
hath  done)  consumed  all  theyr  tyme  in  pleas- 
ure and  ease.' " 

After  Sir  Thomas  More's  trial,  "as  he 
came  to  Tower  wharf,  his  dearest  daughter, 
Margaret,  pushed  her  way  through  the  sym- 
pathetic crowd  and  past  the  guard  which 
surrounded  him,  and  flung  herself  into  his 
arms,  not  able  to  say  any  word  but  *  Oh,  my 


70        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

father !  Oh,  my  father ! '  He  was  still  calm 
enough  to  give  her  his  blessing  'and  many 
goodly  words  of  comfort.'  *  Take  patience, 
Margaret,'  he  said,  *  and  do  not  grieve.  God 
has  willed  it  so.  For  many  years  didst  thou 
know  the  secret  of  my  heart.'  They  had 
already  parted  once,  when  she  ran  back  and 
threw  her  arms  around  him.  'Whereat  he 
spoke  not  a  word,  but  carrying  still  his 
gravity,  tears  fell  from  his  eyes :  yea,  there 
were  very  few  in  all  the  group  who  could 
refrain  thereat  from  weeping,  no,  not  the 
guard  themselves.' " 

More's  latest  biographer,  Hutton,  states 
that  no  certain  record  of  his  burial  is  pre- 
served, and  it  is  not  positively  known  whether 
his  body  lies  in  the  chapel  of  the  Tower,  or 
in  the  old  parish  church  in  Chelsea,  where  he 
worshipped.  According  to  the  barbarous 
usage  of  the  time,  his  head  was  set  upon 
a  pole  on  London  Bridge,  from  whence  tra- 
dition says  his  daughter  Margaret  recovered 


More.  71 

it,  and  carefully  preserved  it  until  her  death, 
in  1544,  when  it  was  buried  with  her  at 
Chelsea. 

In  his  "  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  Tennyson 
refers  to  this  legend  of  Margaret  More,  when 
be  speaks  of 

"  Her,  who  clasp'd  in  her  last  trance, 
Her  murdered  father's  head." 

John  Rogers  Herbert,  the  English  Royal 
Academician  who  painted  "  Sir  Thomas  More 
and  his  Daughter,"  which  is  in  the  National 
Gallery,  died  an  octogenarian  in  1890.  Dur- 
ing his  long  life  he  produced  many  pictures, 
including  the  "  Brides  of  Venice"  and  "  St. 
Gregory  Teaching  his  Chant."  He  often 
essayed  religious  themes,  among  which  should 
be  mentioned  the  fresco  in  the  Houses  of 
Parliament,  representing  "  Moses  Bringing 
the  Tables  of  the  Law  from  Sinai  to  the 
Israelites." 


72        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 


SHAKESPEARE. 

One  of  the  most  persistent  traditions  re- 
lating to  the  Bard  of  Avon  is  that  which 
accuses  him  of  being  at  least  once  in  his  life- 
time a  poacher.  The  story  goes  that,  when 
Shakespeare  was  about  twenty-one,  he,  in 
company  with  some  other  wild  young  men, 
made  a  midnight  raid  on  the  grounds  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  at  Charlecote  Park,  near 
Stratford,  in  search  of  deer,  and  that  the 
poet  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  captured  by 
the  keepers,  while  his  companions  escaped. 
In  the  morning  he  was  brought  before  the 
worshipful  Sir  Thomas  for  examination  and 
punishment,  but  the  legend  is  wholly  silent 
as  to  what  penalty  was  inflicted  upon  him. 
Whatever  this  may  have  been,  Shakespeare 
revenged  himself  by  writing  a  stinging  pas- 
quinade in  rhyme,  and  affixing  it  to  the  park 
gate  at  Charlecote.     The  persecutions  which 


Shakespeare  before  Sir  Thomas  Ltuy, 

From  painting  by  Thomas  Brooks. 


Shakespeare.  73 

thereafter  followed  the  poet  at  Sir  Thomas's 
hands  hastened,  tradition  asserts,  the  depart- 
ure of  Shakespeare  from  Stratford  to  Lon- 
don, whither  he  betook  himself  the  following 
year,  in  1586. 

However  much  or  little  truth  lies  within 
this  legend,  it  is  certain  that  the  poet  had  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  in  mind  when  he  drew  the  un- 
flattering picture  of  the  country  magistrate, 
Justice  Shallow,  in  the  "  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,"  and  in  the  Second  Part  of  "  King 
Henry  IV."  This  is  proven  by  the  allusion 
to  the  family  arms  of  the  Lucys,  who  bore 
upon  their  shield  three  luces  (or  full-grown 
pikes).  The  first  words  in  the  "  Merry 
Wives"  are  spoken  by  Shallow,  conversing 
with  Slender  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans.    He  says  : 

"  Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make 
a  Star-chamber  matter  of  it :  if  he  were 
twenty  Sir  John  Falstaffs,  he  shall  not 
abuse  Robert  Shallow,  esquire. 


74       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Slender.  In  the  County  of  Gloster,  jus- 
tice of  peace  and  coram. 

Shallow.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  cust- 
alorum. 

Slender.  Ay,  and  ratolorutn  too ;  and  a 
gentleman  born,  master  parson ;  who  writes 
himself  armigero. 

Shallow.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  and  have  done 
any  time  these  three  hundred  years. 

Slender.  All  his  successors,  gone  before 
him,  hath  done  't ;  and  all  his  ancestors, 
that  come  after  him,  may :  they  may  give 
the  dozen  white  luces  in  their  coat. 

Shallow.     It  is  an  old  coat." 

In  "  Henry  IV."  Shakespeare  gives  an 
inimitably  lifelike  picture  of  an  old  man  brag- 
ging of  the  exploits  of  his  lusty  youth.  Shal' 
low  begins : 

"  I  was  once  of  Clement's  inn,  where,  I 
think,  they  will  talk  of  mad  Shallow  yet. 


Shakespeare.  75 

Silent.  You  were  called  lusty  Shallow 
then,  cousin. 

Shallow.  By  the  mass,  I  was  called  any- 
thing ;  and  I  would  have  done  anything,  in- 
deed, and  roundly  too.  There  was  I,  and 
little  John  Doit  of  Staffordshire,  and  black 
George  Barnes,  and  Francis  Pickbone,  and 
Will  Squele,  a  Cotswold  man  ;  you  had  not 
four  such  swinge-bucklers  in  all  the  inns  of 
court  again.  Then  was  Jack  Fal  staff,  now 
Sir  John,  a  boy,  and  page  to  Thomas 
Mowbray,  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

Silent.  This  Sir  John,  cousin,  that  comes 
hither  anon  about  soldiers  } 

Shallow.  The  same  Sir  John,  the  very 
same.  I  saw  him  break  Skogan's  head  at 
the  court  gate,  when  he  was  a  crack,  not 
thus  high  :  and  the  very  same  day  did  I  fight 
with  one  Sampson  Stockfish,  a  fruiterer, 
behind  Gray's  inn.  Jesu  !  Jesu !  the  mad 
days  that  I  have  spent !  and  to  see  how 
many  of   mine  old  acquaintance  are   dead ! 


"j^        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Silent.     We  shall  all  follow,  cousin. 

Shallow.  Certain,  'tis  certain  ;  very  sure, 
very  sure  :  death,  as  the  Psalmist  saith,  is 
certain  to  all;  all  shall  die." 

In  justice  to  Sir  Thomas,  the  Squire  of 
Charlecote,  who  seems,  as  a  Puritan  magis- 
trate, to  have  sometimes  annoyed  the  poet's 
parents  about  matters  of  religious  observance, 
we  must  quote  the  epitaph  he  wrote  upon 
his  wife,  who  died  five  years  before  him : 

"  Here  entombed  lyeth  the  Lady  Joyce 
Lucy,  wife  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  of  Charle- 
cote, in  the  County  of  Warwick,  Knight, 
daughter  and  heir  of  Sir  Thomas  Acton,  of 
Sutton,  in  the  County  of  Worcester,  Esquier, 
who  departed  out  of  this  wretched  world  to 
her  heavenly  kingdome  the  tenth  day  of  Feb- 
ruary, in  the  year  of  our  Lord  God  1595,  of 
her  age  LX  and  three.  All  the  time  of  her 
life  a  true  and  faithfull  servant  of  her  good 


Shakespeare.  yy 

God,  never  detected  of  any  crime  or  vice  ;  in 
religion  most  sound ;  in  love  to  her  husband 
most  faithf ull  and  true ;  in  friendship  most 
constant ;  to  what  was  in  trust  committed  to 
her  most  secret ;  in  wis  dome  excelling  ;  in 
governing  of  her  house  and  bringing  up  of 
youth  in  feare  of  God  that  did  converse  with 
her,  most  rare  and  singular.  A  great  raain- 
tainer  of  hospitality  ;  greatly  esteemed  of  her 
betters ;  misliked  of  none  unless  of  the  envious. 
When  all  is  spoken  that  can  be  said,  a  woman 
so  furnished  and  garnished  with  virtue,  as 
not  to  be  bettered,  and  hardly  to  be  equalled 
by  any.  As  she  lived  most  virtuously,  so 
she  died  most  godly.  Set  down  by  him  that 
best  did  know  what  hath  been  written  to  be 
true.  Thomas  Lucy." 

This  touching  tribute  stands  upon  a  mar- 
ble slab  set  in  the  wall  of  Charlecote  Church 
above  the  tomb  whereon  lie  life-size  effigies 
of  the  faithful  pair,  carved  in  alabaster,  she 


78        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature, 

in  the  dress  of  a  lady  of  the  Elizabethan 
period,  and  he  in  armour,  both  with  hands 
clasped  in  prayer. 

One  of  the  numberless  anecdotes  about 
Shakespeare,  of  whom  we  know  so  little  that 
can  be  actually  proven,  says  that  Queen 
Elizabeth  was  so  charmed  with  his  concep- 
tion of  the  character  of  Falstaff,  as  shown 
in  "Henry  IV.,"  that  she  commanded  the 
author  to  represent  him  in  one  play  more, 
and  to  show  him  in  love,  and  the  result  of 
this  royal  behest  was  seen  in  the  "  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor."  Whether  this  tale  be 
authentic  or  not,  we  know  that  both  "  Good 
Queen  Bess  "  and  her  successor,  James  I., 
were  lovers  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  and  fre- 
quently ordered  them  to  be  presented  before 
them,  on  some  of  which  occasions  it  is  prob- 
able that  the  poet  himself  acted  one  of  his 
own  parts.  He  may  also  at  some  time  have 
read  from  one  or  other  of  his  works  before 
Elizabeth. 


Shakespeare  Reading  before  Queen  Elizabeth. 

From  painting  by  Ediiard  Ender. 


"%^'^  - 

Shakespeare.  79 

Walter  quotes  the  following  anecdote :  "  He 
was  personating  on  one  occasion  the  charac- 
ter of  a  king  in  the  presence  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, at  Richmond,  who,  in  walking  across 
the  stage,  the  honoured  place  in  those  days 
for  the  higher  portion  of  the  audience,  dropped 
her  glove  as  she  passed  close  to  the  poet.  No 
notice  was  taken  by  him  of  the  incident ;  and 
the  queen,  desirous  of  knowing  whether  this 
procedure  was  the  result  of  mere  inadver- 
tence, or  a  determination  to  preserve  the 
consistency  of  his  part,  moved  again  toward 
him  and  again  let  her  glove  fall.  Shake- 
speare stooped  down  to  pick  it  up,  saying, 
in  the  character  of  the  monarch  he  was 
personating : 

"  ♦  And  though  now  bent  on  this  high  embassy, 
Yet  stoop  we  to  take  up  our  cousin's  glove.' 

"  He  then  retired  from  the  stage,  and 
presented  the  glove  to  the  queen,  who  is 
reported  to  have  been  highly  pleased." 


8o        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel," 

said  old  Polonius  to  Laertes,  and  the  writer 
of  those  lines  had  among  his  friends  some  of 
the  most  eminent  men  of  his  time.  These 
genial  and  congenial  spirits  often  met  at 
the  famous  old  Mermaid  Tavern  in  Cheap- 
side,  and  formed  a  group  such  as  John  Faed 
has  imagined  in  his  picture  of  "  Shakespeare 
and  his  Contemporaries." 

The  persons  who  comprise  the  upper  group 
of  three  on  the  left  hand  of  the  picture  are 
"  Silver-tongued  Sylvester,"  the  translator  of 
Du  Bartas  and  assistant  of  King  James  in  the 
"  Counterblast  to  Tobacco  ; "  Camden,  the 
traveller  and  author  of  "  Britannia ; "  and 
Dorset,  Lord  High  Treasurer,  author  of 
"  Gorboduc  "  and  part  author  of  the  "  Mirror 
for  Magistrates."  Below  them  we  see  "the 
learned"  John  Selden,  who  wrote  "Table 
Talk,"  and  at  his  right  hand  sit  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,  the  famous  dramatists. 


Shakespeare  and  His  Contemporaries. 

From  painting  by  John  Faed . 


Shakespeare,  8 1 

Beaumont,  in  his  poetical  "  Letter  to  Ben 
Jonson,"  wrote  those  oft-quoted  lines  : 

"  What  things  have  we  seen 
Done  at  the  Mermaid !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble  and  so  full  of  subtile  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 
And  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life." 

Next  to  Fletcher  is  Lord  Bacon  (wearing 
his  hat),  "the  wisest,  brightest,  meanest 
of  mankind ; "  and  then  comes  Ben  Jonson, 
"  Rare  Ben,"  sitting  next  to  Shakespeare,  the 
two  close  friends  together.  In  the  verses 
prefixed  to  the  folio  of  1623,  Jonson  apos- 
trophises him  as  "  My  Shakespeare."  James 
Russell  Lowell  says : 

"  «  My  Shakespeare,'  Milton  called  him,  echoing  Ben; 
'  My  Shakespeare,'  he  to  all  the  sons  of  men." 

Old  Thomas  Fuller,  in  his  "  Worthies  of 
England,"  speaks  of  the  combats  of  wit 
between  "Rare  Ben"  and   "Gentle  Will," 


82        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

comparing  them  to  "a  Spanish  galleon  and 
an  English  man-of-war  :  Master  Jonson,  like 
the  former,  was  built  far  higher  in  learning ; 
solid  but  slow  in  his  performances.  Shake- 
speare, with  the  English  man-of-war,  lesser  in 
bulk,  but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn  with 
all  tides,  tack  about,  and  take  advantage  of 
all  winds,  by  the  quickness  of  his  wit  and 
invention." 

Nearly  hidden  behind  the  head  of  Jonson 
is  that  of  Daniel,  who  wrote  a  history  of  the 
wars  of  York  and  Lancaster,  and  the  face 
seen  just  above  Shakespeare's  is  that  of  John 
Donne,  poet  and  preacher,  who  died  Dean  of 
St.  Paul's.  Brave  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  stands 
by  Shakespeare's  side,  and  leans  on  the 
shoulder  of  Henry  Wriothesley,  Earl  of 
Southampton,  the  friend  and  patron  of  our 
poet,  who  dedicated  to  him  his  "  Venus  and 
Adonis  "  and  "  Rape  of  Lucrece.'  Below 
him  sits  Cotton,  founder  of  the  Cottonian 
Library,  now  in  the    British   Museum,  and 


Shakespeare.  83 

beside  Cotton  is  Thomas  Dekker,  the  play- 
writer,  who  completes  this  group  of  the  men 
who  added  so  much  to  the  glory  of 

"  The  spacious  times  of  great  Elizabeth." 

The  painter  of  this  scene,  John  Faed,  a 
Scotch  artist,  is  hardly  as  well  known  as 
his  brother  Thomas,  whose  pictures  of 
homely  rural  life,  such  as  "The  Mitherless 
Bairn"  and  "  My  Ain  Fireside,"  have  been 
so  deservedly  popular.  John  Faed  has  in- 
clined more  to  the  production  of  historical 
works,  as,  for  instance,  "  Catherine  Seyton," 
"  The  Morning  before  Flodden,"  "  Blenheim," 
and  "Washington  at  Trenton."  A  third 
artist-brother,  James  Faed,  engraved  the 
picture  of  "  Shakespeare  and  his  Contempo- 
raries," and  the  plate  was  dedicated  to  Mr. 
W.  W.  Corcoran,  the  benevolent  American 
banker,  who  owned  the  original  painting,  now 
forming  part  of  the  collection  of  pictures  in 
the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery  at  Washington. 


$4       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 


WALTON. 

At  least  two  of  Shakespeare's  friends,  men 
whom  the  artist  has  shown  in  the  group  of 
"  Shakespeare  and  his  Contemporaries," — 
Ben  Jonson  and  Doctor  Donne,  were  also 
friends  of  gentle  Izziak  Walton,  the  "  Father 
of  Angling." 

One  writer  points  out  that  we  know  little 
more  about  much  of  Walton's  life  than  we  do 
of  Shakespeare's.  Both  were  natives  of  the 
Midlands,  Walton  having  first  seen  the  light 
in  1593,  in  Stafford,  a  town  less  than  fifty 
miles,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  Stratford-on- 
Avon.  Of  his  parents,  very  little  knowledge 
exists ;  of  his  education,  none.  He  seems  to 
have  got  to  London  when  about  twenty,  and 
it  is  known  that  he  was  in  business  there, 
later,  as  a  linen  draper,  and  that  he  had  a 
shop  in  Fleet  Street.  He  retired  from  trade 
when  he  was  about  fifty,  and  spent  the  rest 


Walton.  85 

of  his  life  at  Stafford,  or  in  Winchester, 
where  he  died  in  1683,  and  lies  buried  in  the 
Cathedral.  Walton,  at  one  time  or  another, 
wrote  excellent  biographies  of  Doctor  Donne, 
Sir  Henry  Wotton,  Richard  Hooker,  George 
Herbert,  and  Bishop  Sanderson,  but  his  long 
life  of  ninety  years  produced  no  other  such 
book  as  the  "  Compleat  Angler,"  first  pub- 
lished in  1653,  the  year  that  saw  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  Long  Parliament,  Walton  being 
then  sixty  years  old. 

In  1676  appeared  the  fifth  edition  of  the 
book,  with  an  addition  on  fly  fishing,  by 
Charles  Cotton,  a  brother  angler  and  adopted 
son  of  Walton's.  Walton  was  himself  a  bait- 
fisher,  and  had  but  little  proficiency  in  angling 
with  a  fly. 

Cotton,  an  ardent  Royalist,  like  old  Izaak, 
who  had  been  a  friend  of  his  father's,  was  born 
in  1630,  and  died  in  1687.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  gentleman,  had  travelled  on  the  Continent 
when  young,  and  had  classical  attainments, 


86        TJie  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

but  no  profession,  preferring  literary  pursuits. 
A  brilliant  and  versatile  genius,  and  what  is 
better  still,  one  who  is  described  as  "  cheerful 
in  adversity,"  loyal  to  his  friends,  kind  to  the 
poor,  and  a  devoted  husband,  handsome  in 
person,  sometimes  improvident,  a  lover  of 
good  company,  a  poet  and  the  friend  of  poets, 
such  as  Lovelace  and  Suckling,  Cotton  must 
have  been  the  beau-ideal  of  a  Cavalier.  He 
wrote  a  burlesque  poem  called  "  Scarronides," 
"Lucian  Burlesqued,"  and  a  "Voyage  to 
Ireland  in  Burlesque,"  among  other  things, 
and  several  translations,  the  best  being  one 
of  Montaigne's  essays,  which  has  been  called 
"a  masterpiece  of  that  kind."  He  was 
skilled  in  horticulture  as  well  as  in  angling. 
In  the  same  year  that  the  "  Compleat 
Angler,"  with  Cotton's  treatise,  was  issued, 
he  built  the  famous  fishing-house  on  the 
Dove,  on  which  his  initials  are  blended  with 
those  of  his  friend  Walton.  "In  him,"  says 
Cotton,  "I  have  the  happiness  to  know  the 


Walton.  87 

worthiest  man,  and  to  enjoy  the  best  and 
the  truest  friend  any  man  ever  had."  "So 
the  two  friends  became  closely  linked  to- 
gether in  a  renown  that  will  last  while  rivers 
run." 

Andrew  Lang,  himself  a  lover  of  fishing, 
says  of  the  "  Compleat  Angler : "  "  The 
charm  of  peace,  content,  good-will  to  men ; 
the  love  of  green  old  England,  where  still  the 
milkmaids  sang,  despite  religious  and  political 
revolution,  inform  that  delightful  work,  which 
is  like  a  fragrant  flower  in  the  sternest  chap- 
ter of  English  history." 

Let  us  read  one  or  two  extracts  culled 
from  its  pages. 

Here  is  Piscator's  argument  that  angling 
is  an  art : 

"Oh,  Sir,  doubt  not  but  that  Angling  is 
an  art ;  is  it  not  an  art  to  deceive  a  Trout 
with  an  artificial  Fly .?  a  Trout !  that  is  more 
sharp-sighted  than  any  Hawk  you  have 
named,   and    more   watchful    and    timorous 


B8       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

than  your  high-mettled  Merlin  is  bold  ?  and 
yet,  I  doubt  not  to  catch  a  brace  or  two  to- 
morrow, for  a  friend's  breakfast :  doubt  not, 
therefore,  Sir,  but  that  angling  is  an  art,  and 
an  art  worth  your  learning.  The  question  is 
rather,  whether  you  are  capable  of  learning 
it  ?  for  angling  is  somewhat  like  poetry,  men 
are  to  be  born  so ;  I  mean,  with  inclinations 
to  it,  though  both  may  be  heightened  by 
discourse  and  practice ;  but  he  that  hopes 
to  be  a  good  angler  must  not  only  bring  an 
enquiring,  searching,  observing  wit,  but  he 
must  bring  a  large  measure  of  hope  and 
patience,  and  a  love  and  propensity  to  the  art 
itself ;  but,  having  once  got  and  practised  it, 
then  doubt  not  but  angling  will  prove  to  be 
so  pleasant,  that  it  will  prove  to  be,  like 
virtue,  a  reward  to  itself." 

And  here  he  shows  how  fishermen  were 
found  deserving  of  the  favour  of  the  Lord : 
"And,  doubtless,  this  made  the  prophet 
David  say,  'They  that  occupy  themselves  in 


Walton.  89 

deep  waters,  see  the  wonderful  works  of  God  : ' 
indeed  such  wonders,  and  pleasures  too,  as 
the  land  affords  not.  And  that  they  be  fit 
for  the  contemplation  of  the  most  prudent, 
and  pious,  and  peaceable  men,  seems  to  be 
testified  by  the  practice  of  so  many  devout 
and  contemplative  men,  as  the  Patriarchs  and 
Prophets  of  old ;  and  of  the  Apostles  of  our 
Saviour  in  our  latter  times,  of  which  twelve, 
we  are  sure,  he  chose  four  that  were  simple 
fishermen,  whom  he  inspired,  and  sent  to 
publish  his  blessed  will  to  the  Gentiles ;  and 
inspired  them  also  with  a  power  to  speak  all 
languages,  and  by  their  powerful  eloquence 
to  beget  faith  in  the  unbelieving  Jews ;  and 
themselves  to  suffer  for  that  Saviour,  whom 
their  forefathers  and  they  had  crucified  ;  and, 
in  their  sufferings,  to  preach  freedom  from  the 
incumbrances  of  the  law,  and  a  new  way  to 
everlasting  life ;  this  was  the  employment  of 
these  happy  fishermen.  Concerning  which 
choice,  some  have  made  these  observations : 


90        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"First,  that  he  never  reproved  these,  for 
their  employment  or  calling,  as  he  did  the 
Scribes  and  the  Money-changers.  And, 
secondly,  he  found  that  the  hearts  of  such 
men,  by  nature,  were  fitted  for  contempla- 
tion and  quietness ;  men  of  mild,  and  sweet, 
and  peaceable  spirits,  as  indeed  most  Anglers 
are:  these  men  our  blessed  Saviour,  who 
is  observed  to  love  to  plant  grace  in  good 
natures,  though  indeed  nothing  be  too  hard 
for  him,  yet  these  men  he  chose  to  call  from 
their  irreprovable  employment  of  fishing,  and 
gave  them  grace  to  be  his  disciples,  and  to 
follow  him,  and  do  wonders ;  I  say  four  of 
twelve. 

"And  it  is  observable,  that  it  was  our 
Saviour's  will  that  these  four  fishermen 
should  have  a  priority  of  nomination  in  the 
catalogue  of  his  twelve  Apostles,  as  namely, 
first  St.  Peter,  St.  Andrew,  St.  James,  and 
St.  John ;  and,  then,  the  rest  in  their  order. 

"  And  it  is  yet  more  observable,  that  when 


Walton.  91 

our  blessed  Saviour  went  up  into  the  mount, 
when  he  left  the  rest  of  his  disciples,  and 
chose  only  three  to  bear  him  company  at  his 
Transfiguration,  that  those  three  were  all 
fishermen." 
Hear  the 

"angler's  song." 

"  Man's  life  is  but  vain ;  for  'tis  subject  to  pain. 

And  sorrow,  and  short  as  a  bubble ; 

'Tis  a  hodge-podge  of  business,  and  money,  and 

care. 
And  care,  and  money,  and  trouble. 

"But  well  take  no  care  when  the  weather  proves 

fair; 
Nor  will  we  vex  now  though  it  rain ; 
We'll  banish  all  sorrow,  and  sing  till  to-morrow, 
And  angle,  and  angle  again." 

And  our  last  quotation  shall  be  Walton's 
benediction,  which  he  fitly  puts  at  the  very 
end  of  his  book. 

"And  so,  let  everything  that  hath  breath 
praise  the  Lord ;  and  let  the  blessing  of  St. 


92        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Peter's  Master  be  with  mine.  And  upon  all 
that  are  lovers  of  virtue ;  and  dare  trust  in  his 
providence  ;  and  be  quiet ;  and  go  a  Angling." 
Mr.  Sadler,  in  his  admirable  picture  of 
Walton  and  his  pupil,  gives  us  the  two 
friends  just  as  one  may  fairly  imagine  them 
to  have  been,  —  Cotton  with  his  long  love- 
locks and  lace  ruffles,  brave  in  fine  clothes, 
learning  from  his  beloved  master.  Thus 
they  sit 

«  Beneath  the  spreading  tree 
In  ease  and  jollity, 
And  summer  weather ; 
Having  no  other  wish 
Then  thus  to  calmly  fish 
And  talk  together." 

The  artist  is  an  Englishman,  who  in  the 
earlier  part  of  his  career  made  himself  pecul- 
iarly the  painter  to  delight  anglers  by  many 
good  pictures  of  fish  and  fishermen,  —  some- 
times a  mediaeval  monk  who  has  landed  a 
finny  prize,  or  a  tableful  of  friars  discussing 


^:^ 


l:^aah  IVallon  and  His  Piipil. 

From  painting  by  Walter  Dendy  Sadler. 


Walton.  93 

a  big  salmon,  and  then  a  line  of  modern 
anglers  on  a  river-bank  indulging  in  a  fishing- 
match,  or  the  like.  Of  late  years,  though, 
Mr.  Sadler  has  changed  his  note,  and 
paints  with  equal  acceptance  pages  of  life 
wherein  sentiment  and  humour  are  pleas- 
antly mingled,  —  a  "  Darby  and  Joan  " 
toasting  each  other  over  their  walnuts  and 
wine,  old,  but  tender  and  loving  still ;  or  an 
attractive  widow,  with  some  gallant  old  beaux 
dangling  after  her ;  and  scenes  reminiscent 
of  the  days  of  stage-coaches,  of  country 
taverns  and  "Mine  host,"  of  old-fashioned 
gardens  and  old-fashioned  lovers. 

As  we  recall  them,  we  cannot  but  say  that 
Walter  Dendy  Sadler  well  deserves  the  suc- 
cess he  has  won. 


94        T^  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 


MILTON. 

Shakespeare  died  when  Milton  was  but 
seven  years  old,  but  they  are  in  a  special 
manner  connected  through  the  noble  tribute 
to  the  great  dramatist  which  the  great  poet 
wrote  in  1630,  and  which  was  prefixed  to  the 
folio  of  1632. 

"  What  needs  my  Shakspeare  for  his  honoured  bones 

The  labour  of  an  age  in  pilfed  stones  ? 

Or  that  his  hallowed  reliques  should  be  hid 

Under  a  stary-pointing  pyramid  ? 

Dear  son  of  memory,  great  heir  of  fame, 

What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy  name  ? 

Thou  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 

Hast  built  thyself  a  livelong  monument. 

For  whilst,  to  the  shame  of  slow-endeavouring  art, 

Thy  easy  numbers  flow,  and  that  each  heart 

Hath  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  book 

Those  Delphic  lines  with  deep  impression  took ; 

Then  thou  our  fancy  of  itself  bereaving. 

Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiving ; 

And  so  sepulchred  in  such  pomp  dost  lie. 

That  kings,  for  such  a  tomb,  would  wish  to  die.'* 


Milton.  95 

But  the  Englishman  with  whom  John 
Milton  is  most  associated  in  our  minds  is 
Oliver  Cromwell,  whose  secretary  he  was, 
and  the  mouthpiece  of  those  words  which 
did  so  much  for  religious  liberty  and  so 
much  to  make  the  name  of  England  re- 
spected abroad  as  never  before.  Of  Crom- 
well Milton  wrote,  some  twenty  years  after 
penning  his  homage  to  the  Bard  of 
Avon : 

•«  Cromwell,  our  chief  of  men,  who,  through  a  cloud 

Not  of  war  only,  but  detractions  rude, 

Guided  by  faith  and  matchless  fortitude. 

To  peace  and  truth  thy  glorious  way  hast  ploughed. 

And  on  the  neck  of  crowned  fortune  proud 

Hast  reared  God's  trophies,  and  his  work  pursued. 

While  Darwen  stream  with  blood  of  Scots  imbrued. 

And  Dunbar  field  resounds  thy  praises  loud, 

And  Worcester's  laureate  wreath.   Yet  much  remains 

To  conquer  still ;  peace  hath  her  victories 

No  less  renowned  than  war ;  new  foes  arise 

Threatening  to  bind  our  souls  with  secular  chains; 

Help  us  to  save  free  conscience  from  the  paw 

Of  hireling  wolves,  whose  gospel  is  their  maw." 


g6       The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

David  Neal,  in  the  picture  to  which  he 
gave  the  name  of  "Mr.  OHver  Cromwell  of 
Ely  visits  Mr.  John  Milton,"  has  brought 
these  two  together  at  a  time  before  the 
climax  of  their  careers,  —  when  Milton  still 
saw,  and  Cromwell  had  not  assumed  control 
of  England.  The  poet  sits  at  the  organ,  and 
the  future  Protector,  who  has  entered  the 
room  unseen  by  Milton,  listens  to  the  music 
he  is  evoking,  —  perhaps  some  air  by  the 
poet's  friend,  Henry  Lawes,  the  composer, 
who  wrote  the  music  for  the  songs  in 
"Comus,"  and  to  whom  Milton  addressed 
one  of  his  sonnets. 

The  painting  of  Cromwell  visiting  Milton 
was  completed  in  1883,  and,  after  being 
exhibited  in  Germany,  and  England,  was 
brought  to  this  country.  Its  author  was 
born  in  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  in  1838,  and 
worked  as  a  draughtsman  in  San  Francisco 
for  several  years,  but  most  of  his  life  since 
early  manhood  has  been   spent  in   Munich, 


Mr.  Oliver  Cromwell  of  Ely  Visits  Mr,  John  Milton. 

From  painting  by  David  Neal. 


Milton.  97 

whither  he  went  in  1861  to  study  art.  At 
first  he  received  instruction  from  the  late 
Chevalier  Ainmuller,  a  distinguished  artist  in 
glass  painting,  whose  daughter  he  afterward 
married,  but  later  he  became  a  pupil  of 
Piloty.  He  painted  numerous  portraits  and 
ideal  heads,  and  several  interiors  from  St. 
Mark's  and  Westminster  Abbey,  and  at  the 
Royal  Academy  of  1874  his  picture  of 
"  James  Watt "  was  bought  by  the  then 
Lord  Mayor  of  London,  Sir  Benjamin  Phil- 
lips. His  best  known  work  is  the  "  First 
Meeting  of  Mary  Stuart  and  Rizzio,"  painted 
in  1876,  which  gained  the  gold  medal  of  the 
Bavarian  Royal  Academy,  and  has  been 
widely  exhibited  and  much  reproduced.  It 
found  a  purchaser  in  a  well-known  American, 
Mr.  D.  O.  Mills,  then  of  San  Francisco. 

Milton's  blindness,  which  had  been  for  a 
long  time  growing,  became  total  in  1652. 
Professor  Masson,  in  his  truly  monumental 
work    on    Milton,    quotes  from    the  poet's 


98        The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  Second  Defence  for  the  English  People," 
written  in  reply  to  an  anonymous  libel 
published  in  London  in  1654,  under  the 
title  of  "Cry  of  the  King's  Blood  to 
Heaven  against  the  English  Parricides," 
In  the  "Second  Defence,"  whose  author 
called  himself  "John  Milton,  Englishman," 
Milton  speaks  at  some  length  of  being  up- 
braided by  his  enemies  with  his  personal 
appearance   and   blindness.     He   says : 

"I  wish  I  could  gainsay  my  brutal  adver- 
sary in  like  manner  as  to  the  fact  of  my 
blindness ;  but  I  cannot,  and  must  there- 
fore bear  that  reproach.  It  is  not  miser- 
able to  be  blind ;  the  misery  would  be  in 
not  being  able  to  bear  blindness.  But  why 
should  not  I  bear  that  which  every  one 
ought  to  be  prepared  to  bear  in  some 
tolerable  manner  if  it  should  happen  to 
him,  that  which  may  happen  too  in  the 
natural  course  of  things  to  any  human 
being  alive,  and  has  happened,  as  I  know. 


Milton.  99 

to  some  of  the  best  men  known  in  history. 
(Here  an  enumeration  of  some  of  the  most 
illustrious  blind  persons  of  history  or  legend, 
—  Tiresias,  Phineus,  Timoleon  of  Corinth, 
Appius  Claudius,  Caecilius  Metellus,  the  Vene- 
tian Dandolo,  the  Bohemian  Ziska,  the  theo- 
logian Jerome  Zanchius,  the  Patriarch  Isaac, 
perhaps  also  the  Patriarch  Jacob ;  ending 
with  a  reference  to  the  man  blind  from 
birth  whom  Christ  cured,  and  whose  blind- 
ness, as  Christ  declared,  was  not  owing  to 
any  sin  of  his  or  any  sins  of  his  parents.) 
.  .  .  As  for  me,  I  call  thee  to  witness,  O 
God,  the  searcher  of  the  inmost  heart  and 
of  all  thoughts  of  men,  that,  though  I  have 
often  and  with  all  my  ability  inquired  into 
this  very  matter  seriously  with  myself,  and 
explored  all  the  recesses  of  my  life  in  the 
search.  I  am  at  this  moment  conscious  to 
myself  of  no  action  of  mine,  either  recent 
or  long  past,  the  atrocity  of  which  can  have 
caused    for   me,    more   than   others,    or   de- 


lOO      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

servedly  brought  upon  me,  this  calamity. 
As  to  what  I  have  at  any  time  written 
(since  the  Royalists  think  I  am  now  suffer- 
ing retribution  on  that  account,  and  make 
their  boast  accordingly),  I  call  God  like- 
wise to  witness  that  I  never  wrote  any- 
thing of  which  I  was  not  at  the  time 
persuaded,  and  of  which  I  am  not  still 
persuaded,  that  it  was  right,  true,  and 
pleasing  to  God,  and  that  I  did  it  not  from 
any  prompting  of  ambition,  gain,  or  glory, 
but  solely  for  reasons  of  duty,  honour,  and 
loyalty  to  my  country,  nor  for  the  libera- 
tion of  the  State  only,  but  also  and  more 
especially  for  the  liberation  of  the  Church. 
(Here  occurs  the  statement  that  his  blind- 
ness had  been  brought  on,  or  hastened,  by 
his  deliberate  perseverance  in  his  "  Defensio 
Prima  pro  Populo  Anglicano  "  in  spite  of  the 
warning  of  his  physicians.)  .  .  .  Let  the 
calumniators  of  God's  judgments  ...  be 
assured   that   I   neither   regret   my   lot  nor 


Milton.  lOI 

am  ashamed  of  it,  that  I  remain  unmoved 
and  fixed  in  my  opinion,  that  I  neither  feel 
nor  believe  myself  an  object  of  God's  anger, 
but  actually  experience  and  acknowledge 
his  fatherly  mercy  and  kindness  to  me  in 
all  matters  of  greatest  moment.  .  .  .  God, 
the  less  we  are  able  to  behold  anything 
else  than  himself,  deigns  on  that  very 
account  to  regard  us  the  more  tenderly 
and  kindly.  ...  To  all  this  I  add  that  my 
friends  also  cherish  me,  study  my  wants, 
favour  me  with  their  society,  more  assidu- 
ously even  than  before,  and  that  there  are 
some  from  whose  lips  I  can  hear,  in  my 
walks,  those  words  of  true  friendship  spoken 
by  Pylades  to  Orestes,  and  by  Theseus  to 
Hercules.  .  .  .  Moreover,  the  highest  men 
also  in  the  Commonwealth,  inasmuch  as 
they  know  that  it  was  not  in  the  midst  of 
sluggish  ease,  but  in  my  full  activity,  and 
when  I  was  among  the  foremost  in  incur- 
ring  all    hazards   for  liberty,  that  my  eye- 


102      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

sight  deserted  me,  do  not  themselves  desert 
me ;  but  reflecting  on  the  chances  of  human 
life,  they  favour  me,  indulge  me,  as  one  who 
has  served  out  his  time,  grant  me  vacation 
and  rest.  If  I  have  any  honourable  distinc- 
tion, they  do  not  strip  me  of  it ;  if  any 
public  office,  they  do  not  take  it  away ;  if 
any  emolument  therefrom,  they  do  not  re- 
duce it,  —  kindly  judging  that,  though  I  am 
not  so  useful  now  as  I  have  been,  the  pro- 
vision for  me  ought  not  to  be  less  ;  in  short, 
treating  me  with  as  much  honour  as  if,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  Athenians  of 
old,  they  had  decreed  me  public  support  for 
my  life  in  the  Prytaneum." 

The  great  epic  of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  pub- 
lished in  1667,  was  the  labour  of  Milton's 
blind  years,  the  whole  work  having  been 
dictated  to  his  daughters.  Of  these,  he  had 
three,  all  the  children  of  his  first  wife,  Mary 
Powell.  Anne,  born  in  1 646,  was  the  oldest, 
and  then  came  Mary,  and  lastly,  Deborah. 


Milton  Dictating  "  Paradise  Lost"  to  His 
Daughters. 

From  painting  by  Michael  Munkacsy. 


Milton,  103 

Milton's  only  son,  John,  died  when  but  an 
infant,  in  1652,  the  year  of  his  father's  com- 
plete loss  of  sight,  and  the  year  also  of  his 
mother's  death. 

In  Munkacsy's  famous  painting  of  "Mil- 
ton Dictating  Paradise  Lost  to  his  Daugh- 
ters," the  youngest  is  seen  working  at  her 
embroidery,  next  her  stands  Mary,  and  the 
oldest  child  is  bending  forward  to  catch  more 
surely  the  precious  syllables  falling  from  the 
lips  of  the  blind  poet.  This  striking  canvas 
was  first  shown  to  the  public  at  the  Paris 
Exposition  of  1878,  where  it  gained  for  its 
author  the  signal  distinction  of  the  Medal  of 
Honour,  and  an  assured  fame.  It  was  pur- 
chased by  an  American,  Mr.  Robert  Lenox 
Kennedy,  of  New  York,  who  presented  it  to 
the  Lenox  Library  of  that  city. 

Michael  Munkacsy's  life  was  one  of  many 
vicissitudes.  Born  in  Hungary,  in  1846,  he 
lost  both  parents  while  very  young,  and  was 
adopted  by  an  aunt.      This  kindly  relative 


104      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

was,  however,  soon  after  murdered  by  thieves 
who  broke  into  her  house  at  night  and  stole 
everything,  leaving  the  little  Michael  again 
desolate.  He  was  then  befriended  by  an 
uncle,  who  unfortunately  lost  his  property, 
and  this  made  it  necessary  for  young  Mun- 
kacsy  to  seek  work ;  so  he  became  a  joiner's 
apprentice  and  in  time  a  journeyman,  and 
worked  hard  and  long.  A  taste  for  drawing 
showed  itself  in  him,  and  he  found  his  voca- 
tion to  be  that  of  an  artist.  After  many 
struggles  and  privations,  he  was  enabled  to 
study  under  Knaus  at  Dusseldorf,  and  finally 
won  success  with  the  "  Last  Day  of  the  Con- 
demned," which  he  sent  to  the  Paris  Salon 
of  1870,  and  which  was  bought  by  an  Amer- 
ican, Mr.  Wilstach,  of  Philadelphia.  Eight 
years  later  the  "  Milton  "  appeared,  and  then 
came  the  world-famed  "  Christ  before  Pilate" 
and  "Christ  on  Calvary,"  the  "Mozart  Con- 
ducting his  Requiem,"  and  many  other  works 
which  added  to  his  increasing  renown  and 


Defoe.  105 

prosperity.  Married  to  a  beautiful  and 
wealthy  lady  of  title,  honoured  by  commis- 
sions from  the  government  of  his  native  land, 
and  apparently  without  a  wish  ungratified, 
a  terrible  calamity  put  an  end  to  all.  His 
reason  gave  way,  and,  after  lingering  in  an 
asylum  for  two  or  three  years,  Munkacsy 
died  insane  in  May,  1900. 

It  is  of  interest  to  know  that  the  painter 
of  Milton  himself  suffered  for  months  at  one 
time  in  his  life  from  partial  blindness. 

DEFOE. 

One  of  Defoe's  biographers,  Thomas 
Wright,  begins  his  preface  in  this  pithy 
manner : 

"  With  the  personality  of  no  eminent  man 
of  letters  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  is  the  public  less  familiar  than  with 
that  of  Daniel  Defoe.  'Robinson  Crusoe' 
has   been   read    to    tatters,    *The    Shortest 


lo6     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Way'  even  has  been  taken  down  and 
dusted ;  but  of  the  man  who  wrote  them 
the  great  world  knows  nothing,  except,  per- 
haps, that  he  had  a  hooked  nose  and  was  put 
in  the  pillory." 

The  pillory  in  some  form  or  other,  such 
as  the  stretch-neck,  which  confined  the  head 
only,  appears  to  have  existed  in  England 
from  before  the  Conquest,  and  was  not 
abolished  until  1837.  It  became  in  time 
the  usual  method  of  punishing  libellers.  To 
a  popular  favourite,  it  was  scarcely  a  punish- 
ment at  all,  but  those  who  had  incurred  the 
ill  will  of  the  people  were  sometimes  so  ill 
used  by  the  mob  as  to  cause  death. 

A  noted  victim  of  the  pillory  was  William 
Prynne,  the  Puritan  pamphleteer,  whose  cele- 
brated "  Histrio-mastix,"  attacking  the  stage, 
was  issued  in  1632.  Queen  Henrietta  Maria 
and  her  ladies  having  about  this  time  taken 
part  in  the  performance  of  Walter  Mon- 
tague's   "Shepherd's    Paradise/'   a    passage 


Defoe.  107 

in  Prynne's  book  was  thought  to  reflect  on 
thera,  and  Star-chamber  proceedings  were 
instituted  against  its  author.  After  passing 
a  year  in  the  Tower,  he  was  sentenced  to 
be  imprisoned  for  life,  to  be  fined  ;^5,ooo, 
and  to  lose  both  ears  in  the  pillory.  Five 
years  later  (it  is  evident  that  the  sentence 
of  perpetual  imprisonment  had  been  re- 
mitted) Prynne's  "  News  from  Ipswich," 
directed  against  Wren,  Bishop  of  Norwich, 
brought  him  before  the  court,  and  he  was 
again  sentenced  to  be  imprisoned  and  fined, 
to  stand  in  the  pillory,  and  be  branded  on  the 
cheeks  with  the  letters  S.  L.,  which  stood  for 
Seditious  Libeller.  But  nothing  could  tame 
Prynne,  and  he  forthwith  wrote  some  verses 
asserting  that  S.  L.  meant  Stigmata  Laudis. 
The  infamous  Titus  Oates,  who  invented 
the  so-called  "  Popish  Plot "  to  massacre  the 
Protestants,  bum  London,  and  assassinate 
Charles  II.,  and  gained  wealth  by  revealing 
it,  must  have  been  well  acquainted  with  the 


io8      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

pillory.  He  was  tried  for  perjury  in  1685, 
found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  be  twice 
whipped  and  stand  in  the  pillory  annually 
at  certain  specified  times  and  places.  A 
portrait  of  him  was  published  at  this  period 
which  was  inscribed  "  Oats  well  thrash 't." 

"The  Shortest  Way  with  Dissenters,"  a 
famous  tract  of  Defoe's,  appeared  anony- 
mously in  1702,  and  caused  an  immense 
sensation.  On  its  face  an  argument  for  the 
employment  of  the  severest  measures  against 
the  Dissenters,  it  was  really  a  satirical  imita- 
tion, hardly  exaggerated,  of  the  furious  invec- 
tives of  the  Tories  against  their  opponents. 
At  first  its  irony  was  unseen,  and  both  sides 
were  deceived.  The  High  Church  party 
hailed  this  strengthener  of  their  hands  with 
delight  and  the  Dissenters  were  correspond- 
ingly depressed,  but  the  truth  soon  leaked 
out  and  the  tables  were  turned  indeed. 
The  Whigs  laughed  prodigiously,  the  Tories 
raged. 


Defoe.  109 

The  Earl  of  Nottingham,  one  of  the  Sec- 
retaries of  State  and  Defoe's  bitter  enemy, 
traced  its  authorship  to  him,  and  a  reward  of 
;^50  was  offered  for  his  apprehension.  The 
pamphlet  was  burned  in  New  Palace  Yard  by 
the  common  hangman,  both  its  printer  and 
publisher  were  arrested,  and  Defoe  was  finally 
found  and  imprisoned.  His  trial  came  o£F 
at  the  Old  Bailey  early  in  July,  1703,  and 
Defoe,  acting  on  his  counsel's  mistaken 
advice,  quitted  his  defence  and  threw  him- 
self upon  the  mercy  of  the  queen.  The 
result  was  a  sentence  of  marked  severity. 
He  was  condemned  to  pay  two  hundred 
marks,  to  stand  three  times  in  the  pillory, 
to  be  imprisoned  during  the  queen's  pleasure, 
and  find  sureties  for  his  good  behaviour  for 
seven  years. 

In  accordance  with  this,  Defoe  stood  in 
the  pillory  on  the  last  three  days  of  July, 
1703, — on  the  29th,  before  the  Royal  Ex- 
change in  Cornhill ;  on  the  30th,  near  the 


no      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Conduit,  in  Cheapside ;  and  on  the  3 1  st,  at 
Temple  Bar,  in  which  last  situation  our  artist 
has  pictured  him.  But  the  future  author  of 
the  immortal  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  had  little 
reason  to  feel  abashed,  for  a  crowd  of 
admirers  gathered  around  the  pillory,  and, 
instead  of  being  bombarded  with  such  un- 
savoury missiles  as  dead  cats,  rotten  vege- 
tables, and  stale  eggs,  bunches  of  flowers 
were  flung  to  him.  "  The  pillory  itself  was 
adorned  with  garlands,  and  tankards  of  ale 
and  stoups  of  wine  were  drunk  in  honour 
of  the  darling  of  the  Whig  mob.  .  .  .  The 
daring  *  Hymn  to  the  Pillory '  which  Defoe 
had  written,  and  which  was  hawked  about 
at  the  time,  added  to  the  enthusiasm.".  It 
begins : 

"  Hail,  hieroglyphic  state  machine, 
Contrived  to  punish  fancy  in. 
Men  that  are  men  in  thee  can  feel  no  pain, 
And  all  thy  insignificants  disdain. 
Exalted  on  the  stool  of  state  — 
What  prospect  do  I  see  of  sovereign  fate  ?  " 


Defoe  in  the  Pilhry. 

From  painting  by  Eyre  Crowe. 


Defoe.  1 1 1 

Certainly  these  lines  would  serve  to  show 
that  Defoe  was  no  poet,  nor  was  he,  though 
he  wrote  a  great  amount  of  rhyme,  and  seems 
to  have  plumed  himself  on  his  skill  at  verse 
making.  Because  of  long  detention  in  jail, 
his  business  of  the  tile  works,  in  which  he 
was  the  principal  shareholder,  was  ruined,  and 
he  suffered  a  loss  of  about  ;^3,Soo.  To  use 
his  own  words,  "Violence,  injury,  and  barbar- 
ous treatment  demolished  him  and  his  under- 
taking." On  the  other  hand,  he  gained 
something,  not  so  tangible  as  money,  but 
of  lasting  use  and  worth.  His  biographer, 
Wright,  plausibly  holds  that  the  eighteen 
months  Defoe  spent  in  Newgate,  as  one 
result  of  "The  Shortest  Way,"  were  of  the 
greatest  value  to  him,  for  there  he  gathered 
among  his  fellow  prisoners  invaluable  material 
for  the  wonderful  realistic  works  which  he 
afterward  produced.  As  a  political  prisoner 
Defoe  could  keep  himself  apart  from  the 
crowd  of  thieves,  highwaymen,  coiners,  and 


112      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

pirates  who  thronged  the  prison,  but  we 
know  that  he  did  not  always  do  so.  He 
often  went  among  them,  and  laboured  with 
them  for  their  good,  conveying  to  the  igno- 
rant and  the  wicked  that  moral  and  religious 
instruction  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to 
adapt  to  their  capacities. 

The  first  picture  exhibited  at  the  Royal 
Academy  by  Eyre  Crowe,  a  pupil  of  Paul 
Delaroche,  was  "  Master  Prynne  Searching 
the  Pockets  of  Archbishop  Laud  in  the 
Tower,"  and  to  this  representation  of  the 
notorious  occupant  of  pillories  succeeded 
many  works  of  a  historical  nature,  several 
of  which  have  been  engraved.  Some  of 
them  are  "  Holbein  Painting  Edward  VI.," 
"  Milton  Visiting  Galileo  in  Prison,"  "  Luther 
Posting  his  Theses  on  the  Church-door  of 
Wittenberg,"  "Charles  H.  Knighting  the 
Loin  of  Beef,"  and  "  Goldsmith's  Mourners." 
Crowe  was  elected  an  associate  of  the  Royal 
Academy  in  1876. 


Swift.  1 1 3 

An  interesting  episode  in  his  life  occurred 
in  1852,  when  he  accompanied  Thackeray, 
as  his  secretary,  on  his  lecturing  tour  to  the 
United  States.  Some  forty  years  afterward 
Crowe  published  an  account  of  the  trip,  in  a 
most  interesting  book,  called  "With  Thack- 
eray in  America,"  which  is  illustrated  with 
many  of  Crowe's  amusing  sketches  of  life  in 
our  ante-bellum  days. 

SWIFT. 

That  "  King  of  Book  Collectors,"  Robert 
Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Queen  Anne's 
chancellor  and  secretary  of  state,  managed 
to  "secure  to  his  own  service  two  of  the 
greatest  intelligences  of  his  time,"  —  Defoe 
and  Swift,  Though  both  of  them  worked 
and  wrote  for  Harley,  they  were  far  from 
friendly  to  each  other. 

"An  illiterate  fellow,  whose  name  I  for- 
get," was  one  of  the  gibes  which  were  flung 


114      T^f^^  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

at  Defoe  by  Swift,  with  the  almost  brutal 
scorn  which  was  part  of  his  character.  "  As 
fierce  a  beak  and  talon  as  ever  struck,  —  as 
strong  a  wing  as  ever  beat,  belonged  to 
Swift,"  says  Thackeray. 

He  says,  also,  "The  brightest  parts  of 
Swift's  story,  the  pure  star  in  that  dark  and 
tempestuous  life  of  Swift's,  is  his  love  for 
Hester  Johnson."  "  Stella,"  Swift  named 
her,  and  her  sad  story  is  familiar  to  every  one 
who  knows  the  life  of  the  author  of  "  Gulli- 
ver's Travels."  When  the  young  Irish  stu- 
dent first  went  to  England,  in  1688,  he 
was  received  into  the  hf)use  of  Sir  William 
Temple,  at  Moor  Park,  in  Surrey,  as  aman- 
uensis and  reader,  Lady  Temple  being  in 
some  way  related  to  Swift's  mother.  Sir 
William,  a  man  who  had  been  in  his  day  the 
ambassador  of  kings  and  had  refused  the 
office  of  secretary  of  state,  preferring  to 
devote  himself  to  literary  pursuits  and  his 
beloved  gardens,   had,   doubtless,  plenty  of 


'■^W: 


^^mB!- 


Swift  and  Stella. 

From  painting  by  Margaret  Dicksee. 


Swift.  1 1 5 

work  for  young  Jonathan  Swift  to  do.  The 
Temple  family  included  little  Hester  Johnson, 
then  about  seven  years  old,  whose  mother, 
a  widow,  was  some  sort  of  a  housekeeper  at 
Moor  Park.  The  child's  education  was  for 
several  years  confided  to  the  Irish  secretary, 
and  many  hours  they  must  have  passed  to- 
gether, engaged  as  in  Miss  Dicksee's  charm- 
ing picture,  —  in  the  wainscoted  room,  with 
plenty  of  books  about,  and  the  daylight 
shining  through  the  leaded  glass  on  the  gold- 
fish and  the  flowers,  and  on  the  proud  yet 
melancholy  face  of  Swift  and  the  fair,  pure, 
young  girl  whom  he  taught,  and  whom  he 
loved   in   later  years. 

Sir  William  Temple  died  in  1699,  and  left 
a  thousand  pounds  to  Stella,  then  about 
eighteen  years  of  age.  Swift  had  got  a 
living  at  Laracor,  near  Dublin,  and  thither 
Stella,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Dingley,  a  re- 
spectable elderly  woman  with  a  small  income, 
went  to  live,  in  lodgings  not  far  from  Swift. 


1 1 6      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

He  was  often  away  in  London  in  the  follow- 
ing years,  and  during  these  absences  the 
ladies  occupied  his  parsonage  or  his  lodgings 
in  Dublin,  removing  to  their  own  rooms  upon 
his  return.  "  In  these  absences  from  home 
he  wrote  Stella  almost  daily,  keeping  a  jour- 
nal-letter which  he  despatched  regularly,  and 
giving  the  fullest  account  of  all  he  said,  heard, 
or  did.  This  is  the  Journal  to  Stella.  .  .  . 
The  letters  are  charming,  gossiping  love- 
letters, —  charming  enough  for  any  man  to 
write,  a  man  even  who  had  a  sound,  whole- 
some human  heart  in  his  bosom.  One  can 
fancy  poor  Stella  gloating  over  them,  extract- 
ing the  fondness  as  a  bee  honey,  sleeping 
with  them  at  night  under  her  pillow,  and 
carrying  them  about  with  her  by  day." 

Here  is  one  of  Swift's  letters  to  "Stella- 
kins,"  as  he  sometimes  calls  her : 

"  Here  I  must  begin  another  letter,  on  a 
whole  sheet,  for  fear  saucy  little  M.  D.  should 
be  angry  and  think  that  the  paper  is  too  little. 


Swift  1 1 7 

I  had  your  letter  last  night,  as  I  told  you 
just  and  no  more  in  my  last ;  for  this  must 
be  taken  up  in  answering  yours,  saucebox.  I 
believe  I  told  you  where  I  dined  to-day  ;  and 
to-morrow  I  go  out  of  town  for  two  days  to 
dine  with  the  same  company  on  Sunday.  I 
heard  that  a  gentlewoman  from  Lady  Gif- 
fard's  house  had  been  at  the  coffee-house  to 
inquire  for  me.  It  was  Stella's  mother,  I 
suppose.  I  shall  send  her  a  penny-post  let- 
ter to-morrow,  and  continue  to  see  her  with- 
out hazarding  seeing  my  Lady  Giffard,  which 
I  will  not  do  until  she  begs  my  pardon.  .  .  . 
"  Here  is  such  a  stir  and  bustle  with  this  lit- 
tle M.  D.  of  ours :  I  must  be  writing  every 
night.  I  cannot  go  to  bed  without  a  word  to 
them  ;  I  cannot  put  out  my  candle  till  I've  bid 
them  good-night.  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  .  .  Well, 
you  have  had  all  my  land  journey  in  my  second 
letter,  and  so  much  for  that.  So  you've  got 
into  Presto's  lodgings  ;  very  fine,  truly.  We 
have  had  a  fortnight   of  the  most  glorious 


ii8      The  Great  Masters  of  LiteratuYi, 

weather  on  earth,  and  still  continues.     I  hope 
you  have  made  the  best  of  it. 

"  Stella  writes  like  an  emperor.    I  am  afraid 
it  hurts  your  eyes ;  pray  take  care  of  that, 
pray,  Mrs.  Stella. 

"  Cannot  you  do  what  you  will  with  your 
own  horse }  pray  do  not  let  that  puppy,  Parvi' 
sol,  sell  him.  Patrick  is  drunk  about  three 
times  a  week,  and  I  bear  it,  and  he  has  got  the 
better  of  me ;  but  one  of  these  days  I  shall 
positively  turn  him  off  into  the  wide  world, 
when  none  of  you  are  by  to  intercede  for 
him.  ... 

"'Write  constantly.?'  Why,  sirrah,  do  I 
not  write  every  day  and  twice  a  day  to  M.  D..? 
Now  I  have  answered  all  your  letter,  and  the 
rest  must  be  as  it  can  be.  I  think  this 
enough  for  one  night ;  and  so  farewell  till 
this  time  to-morrow." 

Unfortunately,  none  of  Stella's  letters  to 
the  dean  have  been  preserved.  The  only 
memento  of  her  found  among  his  effects  was 


Swift.  119 

a  raven  tress  marked  in  his  hand,  "  Only  a 
woman's  hair."  In  Mrs.  Oliphant's  beautiful 
words,  it  was : 

"  Only  all  the  softness,  the  brightness,  the 
love  and  blessings  of  a  life ;  only  all  that  the 
heart  had  to  rest  upon  of  human  solace ;  only 
that,  —  no  more."  Poor  Stella  had  then  been 
in  a  better  world  than  this  for  seventeen 
years. 

Swift  is  said  to  have  married  her,  secretly, 
and  in  a  formal  manner  only,  in  17 16,  some 
dozen  years  before  her  death,  but  the  fact 
of  this  union  is  disputed,  and  no  positive 
evidence  of  it  exists. 

Another  Hester,  Miss  Vanhomrigh,  had  a 
large  part  in  Swift's  life  of  failures,  and  with- 
out doubt  truly  loved  him.  She  hoped  for 
marriage  with  him,  and  certainly  had  some 
reason  for  her  aspirations,  but  the  dean  — 
"a  bachelor  from  conviction,"  Vandam  calls 
him' — would  have  preferred  to  live  and  die 
unmarried.     Hearing  some  rumour  of  his  pri- 


120      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

vate  union  with  Stella,  Vanessa,  as  Swift 
calls  Miss  Vanhomrigh,  wrote  to  her,  ask- 
ing the  relation  she  bore  to  Swift.  Was 
she  his  wife  ?  Stella  did  not  answer,  but 
enclosed  the  letter  to  Swift,  who  took  it  and 
went  at  once  to  Marley  Abbey,  where 
Vanessa  lived.  Bursting  in  to  her  presence, 
with  an  awful  look  he  flung  the  letter  on  the 
table,  and  went  away  without  a  word.  Va- 
nessa never  saw  him  again,  but  died  in  a  few 
weeks  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  story  of  Stella  and  Vanessa  still  re- 
mains untold  "  to  the  depths."  No  one  knows, 
and  probably  none  will  ever  know,  all  the 
truth.  There  is  some  mystery  which  hides 
it  from  our  view. 

Why  did  Swift  not  marry  Hester  Johnson? 
or,  if  he  did  marry  her,  why  was  not  the  union 
acknowledged } 

The  two  who  knew  best,  perhaps  the  only 
ones  who  ever  knew,  lie  near  each  other  in 
St.  Patrick's,  silent  in  death  as  in  life. 


Swift.  1 2 1 

Swift  died  insane  after  several  years  of 
impaired  intellect,  in  1745,  "having  lived  till 
seventy-eight  in  spite  of  himself." 

Let  Thackeray  sum  up  his  life,  —  who  can 
do  it  so  well  ? 

"And  yet,  to  have  had  so  much  love,  he 
must  have  given  some.  Treasures  of  wit  and 
wisdom,  and  tenderness,  too,  must  that  man 
have  locked  up  in  the  caverns  of  his  gloomy 
heart,  and  shown  fitfully  to  one  or  two  whom 
he  took  in  there.  But  it  was  not  good  to 
visit  that  place.  People  did  not  remain 
there  long,  and  suffered  for  having  been 
there.  He  shrank  away  from  all  affections 
sooner  or  later.  Stella  and  Vanessa  both 
died  near  him,  and  away  from  him.  He 
had  not  heart  enough  to  see  them  die. 
He  broke  from  his  fastest  friend,  Sheridan  ; 
he  slunk  away  from  his  fondest  admirer. 
Pope.  His  laugh  jars  on  one's  ears  after 
seven  score  years.  He  was  always  alone,  — 
alone  and  gnashing  in  the  darkness,  except 


122      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

when  Stella's  sweet  smile  came  and  shone 
upon  him.  When  that  went,  silence  and 
utter  night  closed  over  him.  An  immense 
genius  ;  an  awful  downfall  and  ruin." 

The  father  of  Miss  Dicksee,  to  whom  we 
owe  "  Swift  and  Stella,"  was  a  well-known 
English  artist,  and  her  brother,  Frank  Dick- 
see,  who  wears  the  honours  of  a  Royal  Acad- 
emician, long  ago  scored  a  distinct  success 
with  his  delightful  picture  of  "Harmony," 
now  in  the  Chantrey  collection. 

Her  first  picture  to  gain  recognition  by 
being  hung  "on  the  line"  at  the  Royal 
Academy,  was,  we  believe,  one  taken  from 
Longfellow's  "Village  Blacksmith."  Miss 
Dicksee's  other  canvases,  to  mention  but 
the  best  known  ones,  are  "The  First  Audi- 
ence—  Goldsmith  and  the  Misses  Horneck," 
"A  Sacrifice  of  Vanities"  (from  the  "Vicar 
of  Wakefield  "),  "  Sheridan  at  the  Linley's," 
"The  Child  Handel,"  and  "Miss  Angel 
introduced    to    Sir    Joshua    Reynolds,"  —  a 


Pope,  123 

quintette    of    successes    well    deserved    by 
this  sympathetic  and  graceful  painter. 

POPE. 

*«  Without  love,"  says  Thackeray,  "  I  can 
fancy  no  gentleman." 

Pope  was  a  good  and  devoted  son,  and  a 
faithful  friend  to  some,  —  to  Garth,  Arbuth- 
not,  Bolingbroke,  and  Peterborough,  —  but 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  blessed  with 
the  gift  of  loving.  One  of  his  biographers 
says :  "  The  best  prescription  Pope's  spiritual 
physician  could  have  given  was  the  love  of 
a  good  and  sensible  woman."  Such  a  love 
unfortunately  never  came  to  Pope.  Sickly 
and  deformed,  his  appearance  would  te  apt 
to  excite  pity  in  a  kindly  woman's  soul,  and 

"  Of  all  the  paths  that  lead  to  woman's  love 
Pity's  the  straightest." 

In  Pope's  case,  however,  this  result  did  not 
follow. 


124      T^he  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

He  essayed  a  lover's  part  more  than  once, 
and  especially  so  with  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  though  we  cannot  believe  that  his 
heart  was  really  engaged. 

Lady  Mary  was  a  personality,  a  character, 
to  whom  we  owe  some  deservedly  famous 
letters.  Her  father  was  Evelyn  Pierrepont, 
afterward  Duke  of  Kingston,  and  she  was 
bom  in  1689.  Her  mother  died  when  the 
little  girl  was  but  three  years  old,  and  she 
seems  to  have  been  left  to  grow  up  largely 
in  her  own  way,  with  no  regular  education. 

Her  granddaughter,  Lady  Louisa  Stuart, 
relates :  "  A  trifling  incident,  which  Lady 
Mary  loved  to  recall,  will  prove  how  much  she 
was  the  object  of  Lord  Kingston's  pride  and 
fondness  in  her  childhood.  As  a  leader  of 
the  fashionable  world,  and  a  strenuous  Whig 
in  party,  he  of  course  belonged  to  the  Kit- 
Kat  Club.  One  day,  at  a  meeting  to  choose 
toasts  for  the  year,  a  whim  seized  him  to 
nominate  her,  then  not  eight  years  old,  a  can- 


Pope.  125 

didate,  alleging  that  she  was  far  prettier  than 
any  lady  on  their  list.  The  other  members 
demurred,  because  the  rules  of  the  club  for- 
bade them  to  elect  a  beauty  whom  they  had 
never  seen.  'Then  you  shall  see  her,'  cried 
he ;  and  in  the  gaiety  of  the  moment  sent 
orders  home  to  have  her  finely  dressed  and 
brought  to  him  at  the  tavern,  where  she  was 
received  with  acclamation,  her  claim  unani- 
mously allowed,  her  health  drunk  by  every 
one  present,  and  her  name  engraved  in 
due  form  upon  a  drinking-glass.  The  com- 
pany consisting  of  some  of  the  most  eminent 
men  of  England,  she  went  from  the  lap  of 
one  poet,  or  patriot,  or  statesman,  to  the  arms 
of  another,  was  feasted  with  sweetmeats, 
overwhelmed  with  caresses,  and,  what  per- 
haps already  pleased  her  better  than  either, 
heard  her  wit  and  beauty  loudly  extolled  .on 
every  side.  Pleasure,  she  said,  was  too 
poor  a  word  to  express  her  sensations ;  they 
amounted  to  ecsta.sy ;  never  again,  through- 


126      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

out  her  whole  future  life,  did  she  pass  so 
happy  a  day.  Nor,  indeed,  could  she  ;  for  the 
love  of  admiration,  which  this  scene  was  cal- 
culated to  excite  or  increase,  could  never 
again  be  so  fully  gratified ;  there  is  always 
some  allaying  ingredient  in  the  cup,  some 
drawback  upon  the  triumphs  of  grown  people. 
Her  father  carried  on  the  frolic,  and,  we  may 
conclude,  confirmed  the  taste,  by  having  her 
picture  painted  for  the  club-room,  that  she 
might  be  enrolled  a  regular  toast." 

One  of  her  dearest  friends,  in  girlhood,  was 
Anne  Wortley,  whose  brother,  Edward  Wort- 
ley  Montagu,  a  scholar,  and  the  friend  of 
Addison  and  Steele,  met  Lady  Mary,  and  was 
struck  by  her  intelligence  and  wit.  Later 
they  fell  in  love  with  each  other,  and, 
because  of  the  opposition  of  Lady  Mary's 
father,  eloped,  and  were  married  in  17 12. 
Four  years  later  Wortley  Montagu  was  sent 
to  Constantinople  as  ambassador  to  Turkey, 
and  remained  there  with  his  wife  until  17 18, 


Pope.  127 

when  he  was  recalled.  It  was  while  living  in 
the  East  that  Lady  Mary  inquired  into  the 
method  of  inoculation  for  the  smallpox  prac- 
tised by  the  Turks,  which  was  afterward 
courageously  introduced  by  her  into  England. 
From  Constantinople,  too,  she  corresponded 
with  the  Princess  Caroline,  with  Congreve 
and  Pope,  among  others.  Here  is  a  portion 
of  one  of  Pope's  letters  to  Lady  Mary  at  this 
time : 

"  My  eyesight  is  grown  so  bad  that  I  have 
left  off  all  correspondence,  except  with  your- 
self; in  which  methinks  I  am  like  those 
people  who  abandon  and  abstract  themselves 
from  all  that  are  about  them  (with  whom  they 
might  have  business  and  intercourse),  to 
employ  their  addresses  only  to  invisible  and 
distant  beings,  whose  good  offices  and  favours 
cannot  reach  them  in  a  long  time,  if  at  all. 
If  I  hear  from  you,  I  look  upon  it  as  little 
less  than  a  miracle,  or  extraordinary  visita- 
tion from  another  world :  it  is  a  sort  of  dream 


128      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

of  an  agreeable  thing,  which  subsists  no  more 
to  me ;  but,  however,  it  is  such  a  dream  as 
exceeds  most  of  the  dull  realities  of  my  life. 
Indeed,  what  with  ill  health  and  ill  fortune, 
I  am  grown  so  stupidly  philosophical  as  to 
have  no  thought  about  me  that  deserves 
the  name  of  warm  or  lively,  but  that 
which  sometimes  awakens  me  into  an  imag- 
ination that  I  may  yet  see  you  again.  Com- 
passionate a  poet  who  has  lost  all  manner  of 
romantic  ideas,  except  a  few  that  hover  about 
the  Bosphorus  and  Hellespont,  —  not  so 
much  for  the  fine  sound  of  their  names,  as  to 
raise  up  images  of  Leander,  who  was  drowned 
in  crossing  the  sea  to  kiss  the  hand  of  fair 
Hero. 

"  You  tell  me  the  pleasure  of  being  nearer 
the  sun  has  a  great  effect  upon  your  health 
and  spirits.  You  have  turned  my  affections 
so  far  eastward  that  I  could  almost  be  one  of 
his  worshippers  ;  for  I  think  the  sun  has  more 
reason  to   be  proud  of   raising  your  spirits 


Pope.  129 

than  of  raising  all  the  plants  and  ripening  all 
the  minerals  in  the  earth.  It  is  my  opinion 
a  reasonable  man  might  gladly  travel  three  or 
four  thousand  leagues  to  see  your  nature  and 
your  wit  in  their  full  perfection.  What  may 
we  not  expect  from  a  creature  that  went  out 
the  most  perfect  of  this  part  of  the  world, 
and  is  every  day  improving  by  the  sun  in  the 
other.  If  you  do  not  now  write  and  speak 
the  finest  things  imaginable,  you  must  be 
content  to  be  involved  in  the  same  imputa- 
tion with  the  rest  of  the  East,  and  be  con- 
cluded to  have  abandoned  yourself  to  extreme 
effeminacy,  laziness,  and  lewdness  of  life. 

"  I  make  not  the  least  question  but  you 
could  give  me  great  ^claircissements  upon 
passages  in  Homer,  since  you  have  been 
enlightened  by  the  same  sun  that  inspired 
the  Father  of  Poetry.  You  are  now  glow- 
ing under  the  climate  that  animated  him ; 
you  may  see  his  images  rising  more  boldly 
about  you  in  the  very  scenes  of  his  story 


1 30     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

and  action ;  you  may  lay  the  immortal  work 
on  some  broken  column  of  a  hero's  sepul- 
chre, and  read  the  fall  of  Troy  in  the  shade 
of  a  Trojan  ruin.  But  if,  to  visit  the  tomb 
of  so  many  heroes,  you  have  not  the  heart 
to  pass  over  that  sea  where  once  a  lover 
perished,  you  may  at  least,  at  ease  in  your 
own  window,  contemplate  the  fields  of  Asia 
in  such  a  dim  and  remote  prospect  as  you 
have  of  Homer  in  my  translation,  I  send 
you,  therefore,  with  this,  the  third  volume 
of  the  Iliad,  and  as  many  other  things  as 
fill  a  wooden  box,  directed  to  Mr.  Wortley. 
Among  the  rest,  you  have  all  I  am  worth, 
that  is,  my  works ;  there  are  few  things  in 
them  but  what  you  have  already  seen,  except 
the  epistle  of  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  in  which 
you  will  find  one  passage  that  I  cannot  tell 
whether  to  wish  you  should  understand  or 
not. 

"  The  last  I  received  from  your  hands  was 
from  Peterwaradin ;  it  gave  me  the  joy  of 


Pope.  \%i 

thinking  you  in  good  health  and  humour ;  one 
or  two  expressions  in  it  are  too  generous  ever 
to  be  forgotten  by  me.  ...  I  have  had  but 
four  of  your  letters  ;  I  have  sent  several,  and 
wish  I  knew  how  many  you  have  received. 
For  God's  sake,  madam,  send  to  me  as  often 
as  you  can,  in  the  dependence  that  there  is 
no  man  breathing  more  constantly  or  more 
anxiously  mindful  of  you.  Tell  me  that  you 
are  well ;  tell  me  that  your  little  son  is  well ; 
tell  me  that  your  very  dog  (if  you  have  one) 
is  well.  Defraud  me  of  no  one  thing  that 
pleases  you,  for  whatever  that  is,  it  will 
please  me  better  than  anything  else  can 
do." 

The  quarrel  between  Pope  and  Lady  Mary 
took  place  not  many  years  after  the  return 
of  the  Montagus  to  England.  Its  cause 
seems  impossible  to  determine ;  its  result 
was  an  interchange  of  bitter  attacks  upon 
each  other  in  prose  and  verse,  not  creditable 
to  Lady  Mary,  and  very  discreditable  to  the 

S 


132      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

sensitive,  suspicious  (and  spiteful)  poet,  who 
certainly  did  not  act  as  a  gentleman  should 
have  done. 

Mr.  Frith,  in  his  painting  of  the  "  Rejected 
Poet,"  has  followed  the  story  which  affirms 
that  Pope  made  a  serious  declaration  of  love 
to  Lady  Mary,,  and  was  answered  only  by  a 
fit  of  laughter,  which  wounded  his  vanity 
past  cure. 

The  painter,  in  his  delightful  "Autobiog- 
raphy," gives  an  interesting  account  of  his 
experience  with  the  purchaser  of  this  pic- 
ture. 

"  An  incident  occurred  in  connection  with 
this  picture  that  is  worth  recording,  as  show- 
ing the  way  artists  are  sometimes  treated  by 
their  —  so-called  —  patrons.  A  collector,  of 
a  somewhat  vulgar  type,  had  long  desired 
me  to  paint  a  picture  for  him.  I  showed  him 
the  sketch,  and  to  prove  the  culture  of  the 
gentleman,  I  may  mention  the  following 
facts : 


The  Rejected  Poet. 

From  ])aintinii  l»v  William  Powell  Frith. 


Pope.  133 

"  *  What's  the  subject  ? '  said  he. 

«« *  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  and  Pope,' 
said  I ;  '  the  point  taken  is  when  Pope  makes 
love  to  the  lady,  who  was  married  at  the 
time,  and  she  laughed  at  him.' 

"  '  The  Pope  make  love  to  a  married  woman, 
—  horrible ! ' 

"  •  No,  no,  not  the  Pope,  —  Pope  the  poet ! ' 

"  *  Well,  it  don't  matter  who  it  was ;  he 
shouldn't  make  love  to  a  married  woman, 
and  she  done  quite  right  in  laughing  at  him  ; 
and  if  I  had  been  her  husband,  I  should  —  ' 
etc. 

"  *  Very  well,'  said  I,  *  as  you  don't  like  the 
subject,  we  will  say  no  more  about  it.  I 
will  paint  you  something  else.' 

"  *  Oh  no,'  was  the  reply ;  *  I  like  to  see  a 
woman  laugh  at  a  man  that  makes  an  ass  of 
himself.     I'll  take  it.  .  .  .' 

"  In  due  time  the  picture  was  finished,  and 
highly  approved  by  my  learned  friend,  who, 
I  discovered  afterward,  had  never  read  a  line 


134     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

of  Pope,  or,  indeed,  even  heard  of  him.  .  .  . 
He  died  long  ago.  His  pictures  were  sold  at 
Christie's,  where  'Pope  and  Lady  Mary' 
fetched  twelve  hundred  guineas." 

Few  painters  have  ever  won  wider  popu- 
larity for  their  works  than  has  been  ac- 
corded to  William  Powell  Frith,  R.  A., 
now  an  octogenarian.  His  most  famous 
picture  is  "The  Derby  Day,"  now  in  the 
National  Gallery  (bequeathed  by  Jacob 
Bell,  the  old  friend,  and  once  the  fellow 
student,  of  the  painter)  ;  his  "  Railway  Sta- 
tion "  and  the  "  Marriage  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales  "  (the  latter  lent  by  the  queen)  were 
at  the  Centennial  Exhibition,  in  Philadelphia, 
in  1876;  his  "Road  to  Ruin"  and  "The 
Race  for  Wealth "  (the  last-named  was  at 
Chicago  in  1893)  must  also  be  mentioned 
in  this  group  of  representations  of  modem 
life  on  which  his  fame  mostly  rests.  Frith 
has,  however,  painted  many  works  in  another 
branch   of    art,    such    as    "Claude    Duval," 


Sterne.  I35 

"Coming  of  Age,"  "Hogarth  at  Calais," 
"  Scene  from  Goldsmith's  *  Good-natured 
Man,' "  now  in  the  Sheepshanks  Collection 
at  South  Kensington  Museum,  and  "The 
Last  Sunday  of  Charles  II." 

STERNE. 

The  "  Sentimental  Journey  "  of  Laurence 
Sterne  was  intended  to  be  composed  of 
sketches  of  his  tour  through  Italy,  but  he 
died  soon  after  completing  the  first  part, 
which  describes  only  episodes  that  took  place 
in  France.  The  book  was  published  in  1 768, 
the  year  of  the  author's  decease. 

•  Sir  Walter  Scott  says  that  "Yorick,  the 
lively,  witty,  sensitive,  and  heedless  parson, 
is  the  well-known  personification  of  Sterne 
himself,  ani,  undoubtedly,  —  like  every  por- 
trait of  hhiself  drawn  by  a  master  of  the 
art,  —  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  the 
original." 


136      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

It  was  in  Paris  that  the  susceptible  Yorick 
encountered  the  fair  glove-dealer,  whom  New- 
ton has  painted  for  us. 

We  will  let  Sterne  himself  tell  the  story : 
"  •  Pray,  madam,'  said  I,  *  have  the  good- 
ness to  tell  me  which  way  I  must  turn  to  go 
to  the  Op^ra  Comique.' 

"  '  Most  willingly,  monsieur,'  said  she,  lay- 
ing aside  her  work. 

"  I  had  given  a  cast  with  my  eye  into  half  a 
dozen  shops  as  I  came  along,  in  search  of  a 
face  not  likely  to  be  disordered  by  such  an 
interruption,  till,  at  last,  this  hitting  my  fancy, 
I  had  walked  in. 

"  She  was  working  a  pair  of  ruffles,  as  she 
sat  in  a  low  chair  on  the  far  side  of  the  shop, 
facing  the  door. 

"  *  Trh-volontiers,  most  willingly,'  said  she, 
laying  her  work  down  upon  a  chair  next  her, 
and  rising  up  from  the  low  chair  she  was  sit- 
ting in,  with  so  cheerful  a  movement  and  so 
cheerful  a  look  that,  had  I  been  laying  out 


Sterne.  137 

fifty  louis  d'ors  with  her,  I  should  have  said, 
'That  woman  is  grateful.' 

"'You  must  turn,  monsieur,'  said  she, 
going  with  me  to  the  door  of  the  shop,  and 
pointing  the  way  down  the  street  I  was  to 
take;  'you  must  turn  first  to  your  right 
hand,  —  tnais,  prenez  garde,  there  are  two 
turns,  and  be  so  good  as  to  take  the  second, 
—  then  go  down  a  little  way,  and  you'll  see  a 
church ;  and  when  you  are  past  it,  give  your- 
self the  trouble  to  turn  directly  to  the  right, 
and  that  will  lead  you  to  the  foot  of  the  Pont- 
Neuf,  which  you  must  cross,  and  there  any 
one  will  do  himself  the  pleasure  to  show 
you.' 

"  She  repeated  her  instructions  three  times 
over  to  me,  with  the  same  good-natured  pa- 
tience the  third  time  as  the  first ;  and,  if 
tones  and  manners  have  a  meaning,  which 
certainly  they  have,  unless  to  hearts  which 
shut  them  out,  she  seemed  really  interested 
that  I  should  not  lose  myself. 


138      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  I  will  not  suppose  it  was  the  woman's 
beauty  (notwithstanding  she  was  the  handsom- 
est grisette,  I  think,  I  ever  saw)  which  had 
much  to  do  with  the  sense  I  had  of  her  cour- 
tesy ;  only  I  remember,  when  I  told  her  how 
much  I  was  obliged  to  her,  that  I  looked 
very  full  in  her  eyes,  and  that  I  repeated  my 
thanks  as  often  as  she  had  done  her  instruc- 
tions. I  had  not  gone  ten  paces  from  the 
door  before  I  found  I  had  forgot  every  tittle 
of  what  she  had  said ;  so,  looking  back,  and 
seeing  her  still  standing  in  the  door  of  the 
shop,  as  if  to  look  whether  I  went  right  or 
not,  I  returned  back  to  ask  her  whether  the 
first  turn  was  to  my  right  or  left,  for  that  I 
had  absolutely  forgot. 

"  '  It  is  impossible ! '  said  she,  half  laughing. 

"  *  'Tis  very  possible,'  replied  I,  *  when  a 
man  is  thinking  more  of  a  woman  than  of 
her  good  advice.' 

"  As  this  was  the  real  truth,  she  took  it,  as 
every  woman  takes  a  matter  of  right,  with  a 


Sterne.  1 39 

slight  curtsey.  'Attendez!'  said  she,  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  my  arm  to  detain  me  whilst 
she  called  a  lad  out  of  the  back  shop  to  get 
ready  a  parcel  of  gloves.  *  I  am  just  going 
to  send  him,'  said  she,  'with  a  packet  into 
that  quarter ;  and,  if  you  will  have  the  com- 
plaisance to  step  in,  it  will  be  ready  in  a 
moment,  and  he  shall  attend  you  to  the 
place.'  So  I  walked  in  with  her  to  the  far 
side  of  the  shop ;  and,  taking  up  the  ruffle 
in  my  hand  which  she  laid  upon  the  chair, 
as  if  I  had  a  mind  to  sit,  she  sat  down  her- 
self in  her  low  chair,  and  I  instantly  sat 
myself  down  beside  her. 

"  *  He  will  be  ready,  monsieur,*  said  she, 
'in  a  moment.' 

" '  And  in  that  moment,*  replied  I,  *  most 
willingly  would  I  say  something  very  civil 
to  you  for  all  these  courtesies.  Any  one 
may  do  a  casual  act  of  good  nature,  but  a 
continuation  of  them  shows  it  is  a  part  of 
the  temperature.  .  .  .* 


140      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  She  was  going  to  say  something  civil  in 
return,  but  the  lad  came  into  the  shop  with 
the  gloves. 

"*  Apropos,'  said  I,  *I  want  a  couple  of 
pairs  myself.' 

"  The  beautiful  grisette  rose  up  when  I  said 
this,  and,  going  behind  the  counter,  reached 
down  a  parcel  and  untied  it ;  I  advanced  to 
the  side  over  against  her ;  they  were  all  too 
large.  The  beautiful  grisette  measured  them, 
one  by  one,  across  my  hand ;  it  would  not 
alter  their  dimensions.  She  begged  I  would 
try  a  single  pair,  which  seemed  to  be  the 
least.  She  held  it  open,  and  my  hand 
shpped  into  it  at  once. 

" '  It  will  not  do,'  shaking  my  head  a  little. 

*'  *  No,'  said  she,  doing  the  same  thing. 

"  There  are  certain  combined  looks  of  sim- 
ple subtlety,  where  whim,  and  sense,  and 
seriousness,  and  nonsense  are  so  blended 
that  all  the  languages  of  Babel,  set  loose 
together,  could  not  express  them ;  they  are 


Yorich  and  the  Grisette. 

From  painting  by  Gilbert  Stuart  NewtoOi 


££^     .     -^^ 

i    ^ 

>• 

v'^^^^^^^^H^  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

5 

1  i 

1 

i 

Sterne.  141 

communicated  and  caught  so  instantaneously 
that  you  can  scarce  say  which  party  is  the 
infector.  I  leave  it  to  your  men  of  words 
to  swell  pages  about  it ;  it  is  enough  in  the 
present  to  say  again,  the  gloves  would  not 
do ;  so,  folding  our  hands  within  our  arms, 
we  both  lolled  upon  the  counter ;  it  was  nar- 
row, and  there  was  just  room  for  the  parcel 
to  lay  between  us. 

"  The  beautiful  grisette  looked  sometimes  at 
the  gloves,  then  sideways  to  the  window, 
then  at  the  gloves,  and  then  at  me.  I  was 
not  disposed  to  break  silence,  —  I  followed 
her  example ;  so  I  looked  at  the  gloves,  then 
to  the  window,  then  at  the  gloves,  and  then 
at  her,  and  so  on  alternately. 

"I  found  I  lost  considerably  in  every  at- 
tack ;  she  had  a  quick  black  eye,  and  shot 
through  two  such  long  and  silken  eyelashes 
with  such  penetration  that  she  looked  into 
my  very  heart  and  veins.  It  may  seem 
strange,  but  I  could  actually  feel  she  did, 


142     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  *  It  is  no  matter,'  said  I,  taking  up  a 
couple  of  the  pairs  next  me,  and  putting 
them  into  my  pocket. 

"  I  was  sensible  the  beautiful  grisette  had 
not  asked  above  a  single  livre  above  the 
price.  I  wished  she  had  asked  a  livre  more, 
and  was  puzzling  my  brains  how  to  bring  the 
matter  about. 

"'Do  you  think,  my  dear  sir,'  said  she, 
mistaking  my  embarrassment,  'that  I  could 
ask  a  sou  too  much  of  a  stranger,  and  of  a 
stranger  whose  politeness,  more  than  his  want 
of  gloves,  has  done  me  the  honour  to  lay  him- 
self at  my  mercy  t  M'en  croyez-vous  capa- 
ble?' 

" '  Faith  !  not  I, '  said  I ;  *  and  if  you  were, 
you  are  welcome." 

"  So,  counting  the  money  into  her  hand, 
and  with  a  lower  bow  than  one  generally 
makes  to  a  shopkeeper's  wife,  I  went  out, 
and  her  lad,  with  his  parcel,  followed  me." 

An  English  gentleman,  Mr.   Robert  Ver- 


Sterne.  143 

non,  in  1847,  presented  the  National  Gallery 
with  the  munificent  gift  of  over  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pictures  of  the  British  school. 
Among  them  are  the  originals  of  three  re- 
produced in  this  book,  —  Herbert's  "  Sir 
Thomas  More  and  his  Daughter,"  Ward's 
"Doctor  Johnson  in  the  Anteroom  of  Lord 
Chesterfield,"  and  Newton's  "Yorick  and 
the  Grisette." 

Gilbert  Stuart  Newton  was  born  in  Hali- 
fax, N.  S.,  in  1793,  his  parents  having  gone 
thither  from  Boston  at  the  time  the  British 
evacuated  that  city.  Upon  his  father's  death, 
his  mother  brought  the  boy  back  to  Boston, 
where  his  talent  for  art  having  already  shown 
itself,  he  studied  for  a  time  under  his  uncle, 
the  celebrated  portrait  painter,  Gilbert  Stuart. 
He  visited  Italy  in  1817,  and  then  went  to 
London,  and  became  a  student  at  the  Royal 
Academy.  One  of  his  first  pictures  to  at- 
tract attention  was  "The  Forsaken,"  exhib- 
ited at  the  British  Institution  in   1821,  and 


144     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

now  belonging  to  the  Boston  Museum  of 
Fine  Arts,  to  which  it  was  bequeathed  by 
that  generous  friend  of  art,  the  late  Thomas 
Gold  Appleton. 

Newton  became  an  Associate  of  the  Royal 
Academy  in  1828,  and  was  elected  a  full  mem- 
ber in  1832.  His  "Portia  and  Bassanio" 
belongs  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum, 
and  his  "  Abelard  "  is  in  the  Diploma  Gal- 
lery of  the  Royal  Academy.  Other  works 
by  Newton  are  "  The  Importunate  Author," 
"Macbeth,"  "Shylock  and  Jessica,"  "Lear 
and  Cordelia,"  and  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield 
Restoring  his  Daughter  to  her  Mother." 
His  mind  was  clouded  for  several  years  be- 
fore his  death,  which  occurred  in  1835. 
Newton  enjoyed  the  friendship  and  esteem 
of  Charles  Robert  Leslie  and  Washington 
Irving.  His  drawing  was  weak,  but  his 
pictures  are  fine  in  sentiment  and  colour. 
Allston  said,  "  Newton's  colour  is  magical.'^ 


Chatterton. 

From  painting  by  Henry  W%yi9. 


Chatterton.  145 


CHATTERTON. 

The  opening  scene  of  the  tragedy  of 
Thomas  Chatterton's  short,  yet  wonderful 
life  was  a  garret,  and  in  a  garret  he  died.  In 
one  the  Bristol  Bluecoat  boy  delighted  to 
shut  himself  on  holiday  afternoons,  and  pore 
over  the  ancient  manuscripts  which  —  taken 
by  his  father  from  the  old  Treasury  House 
of  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  Redcliffe  —  he 
found  among  the  waste  wreckage  of  the  attic. 
In  the  other,  the  dawn  of  a  London  day 
shone  on  him  lying  dead,  —  poisoned  by  his 
own  hand,  —  not  yet  eighteen  years  old,  but 
driven  by  neglect  and  want  to  self-destruc- 
tion. The  proud  and  confident  spirit  which 
had  entered  the  great  city  but  four  short 
months  before  had  failed,  and  could  not 
longer  endure  the  ruin  of  its  hopes. 

When  his  lifeless  body  was  discovered,  the 
floor  of  the  room  was  strewn  with  the  frag- 


146      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

ments  of  his  writings  which  he  had  destroyed 
in  his  last  hours. 

Among  them  were,  doubtless,  some  of 
those  attempts  at  reproducing  the  verse  of 
Chaucer's  day,  with  which  Chatterton  so 
often  occupied  his  precocious  genius. 

He  claimed  to  have  discovered,  among  the 
old  parchments  in  the  parish  chests  of  Red- 
cliff  e  Church,  a  collection  of  poems  written 
by  a  priest  of  Bristol,  named  Thomas  Row- 
ley, who  flourished  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
and  had  for  his  good  friend  and  patron  one 
WUliam  Canynge,  a  rich  merchant  and  bene- 
factor of  Bristol  city,  as  whose  mayor  he 
served  for  more  than  one  term.  Canynge  is 
a  genuine  historical  character,  but  it  seems 
to  be  a  fact  that  the  poet-priest  existed  only 
in  Chatterton' s  fertile  fancy,  and  that  he 
himself  wrote  the  poems  which  he  ascribed 
to  Rowley. 

Seven  years  after  the  death  of  the  boy- 
poet,  these  pieces  were  first  published  in  a 


Chatterton.  147 

collective  form,  and  then  began  a  bitter  and 
long-continued  controversy  as  to  their  authen- 
ticity. Critics  and  antiquaries  on  one  side 
stoutly  maintained  that  the  Rowley  poems 
were  actually  the  work  of  the  old  parish 
priest,  and  equally  learned  men  on  the  other 
side  warmly  asseverated  that  no  such  man 
ever  lived,  and  that  the  verses  owed  their 
existence  to  Thomas  Chatterton  alone. 

If  the  proud,  misguided  boy,  stubbornly 
refusing  any  help  that  hinted  at  charity, 
could  have  received  but  a  tithe  of  the  sum 
spent  for  printer's  ink  in  this  "  battle  of  the 
books,"  England  might  have  added  another 
great  name  to  her  greatest  ones.  Even  as 
it  is,  — 

"  Chatterton,  the  marvellous  Boy, 
The  sleepless  Soul  that  perished  in  his  pride,"  — 

as  Wordsworth  called  him,  can  never  be  forgot- 
ten. Both  his  sad  story  and  his  wondrous  gifts 
forbid  oblivion  for  Thomas  Chatterton. 


148      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Faultless  he  was  not,  either  in  his  life  or 
his  work,  but  he  was  only  seventeen  when  he 
died. 

His  corpse  was  "carried,  unwept,  un- 
heeded, and  unowned,  to  the  burying-ground 
of  the  workhouse  in  Shoe  Lane,"  but  all 
traces  of  his  grave  are  now  lost,  the  cemetery 
having  been  obliterated  to  form  Farringdon 
Street  Market.  A  monument  to  Chatterton 
was  erected  in  Bristol  seventy  years  after  his 
death,  and  still  stands  near  the  beautiful 
church  of  St.  Mary  Redcliffe,  whose  muni- 
ment-room furnished  the  ancient  parchments 
which  were  so  much  to  the  strange  boy. 
More  lasting  tributes,  however,  are  those 
paid  to  Chatterton  by  his  brother  poets,  Shel- 
ley, Coleridge,  Keats,  and  Rossetti,  and  many 
another  name  of  high  renown. 

His  masterpiece,  the  "  Tragedy  of  Ella," 
written  at  sixteen  years,  contains  this  beauti- 
ful lament : 


Chatterton.  149 

"  O,  sing  unto  my  roundelay ! 

O,  drop  the  briny  tear  with  me  1 
Dance  no  more  at  holiday, 
Like  a  nmning  river  be. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

"  Black  his  hair  as  the  winter  night, 
White  his  neck  as  the  summer  snow, 
Ruddy  his  face  as  the  morning  light ; 
Cold  he  lies  in  the  grave  below. 
My  love  is  dead,  < 

Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 


"  Sweet  his  tongue  as  throstle's  note. 
Quick  in  dance  as  thought  was  he ; 
Deft  his  tabor,  cudgel  stout ; 
O,  he  lies  by  the  willow-tree ! 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  imder  the  willow-tree. 

"  Hark  I  the  raven  flaps  his  wing 
In  the  briered  dell  below ; 


150      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Hark  !  the  death-owl  loud  doth  sing 
To  the  nightmares  as  they  go. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow- tree. 

"  See  the  white  moon  shioes  on  high ; 
Whiter  is  my  true  love's  shroud, 
\yhiter  than  the  mortiing  sky, 
Whiter  than  the  evening  cloud. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

"  Here  upon  my  true  love's  grave, 
Shall  the  garish  flowers  be  laid, 
Nor  one  holy  saint  to  save 
All  the  sorrows  of  a  maid. 
My  love  is  dead. 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

*  With  my  hands  I'll  bind  the  briw* 
Round  his  holy  corse  to  grCr 
Elfin-fairy,  light  your  fires, 
Here  my  body  still  shall  b« 
My  love  is  dead. 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tre* 


Chatterton.  I5I 

"  Come  with  acorn  cup  and  thorn, 
Drain  my  heart's  blood  all  away ; 
Life  and  all  its  good  I  scorn, 
Dance  by  night,  or  feast  by  day. 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree." 

Writer,  traveller,  discoverer,  and  artist, 
Henry  Wallis  can,  in  these  last  days  of  the 
century,  look  back  on  a  life  of  seventy  years. 
Art  he  studied  in  the  Royal  Academy  schools, 
and  then  at  Paris  in  the  studio  of  Gleyre,  the 
painter  of  "  Lost  Illusions,"  and  the  teacher 
of  Whistler  and  Du  Maurier.  "  Chatter- 
ton,"  which  was  on  the  Academy  walls  in 
1856,  and  is  doubtless  Wallis's  best-known 
picture,  having  been  finely  engraved  by  Old- 
ham Barlow,  has  now  happily  become,  through 
bequest,  the  property  of  the  British  nation. 
"  Back  from  Marston  Moor  "  (a  young  soldier 
of  Cromwell's  returning  home),  "Found  at 
Naxos,"  "The  Despatch  from  Trebizond," 
and  "  Timon  and  Flavius,"  are  titles  which 


152     The  Great  Masters  of  Literaiuvi. 

the  painter  has  given  to  some  of  his  works, 
"Across  the  Common"  and  "The  Stone- 
breaker  "  were  sent  to  the  Philadelphia  Ex- 
hibition in  1876.  In  water-colours,  Henry 
Wallis  has  done  many  good  things,  notably 
in  illustration  of  "  The  Merchant  of  Venice." 


JOHNSON. 

Poor  Chatterton  had  hoped  for  the  assist- 
ance of  Horace  Walpole,  who  posed  as  a 
patron,  and  Johnson  addressed  to  Lord  Ches- 
terfield the  "  Plan  of  his  Dictionary,"  in  the 
expectation  of  receiving  some  assistance  in 
the  undertaking.  Both  authors  were  disap- 
pointed, and  both  retaliated,  —  Chatterton, 
by  satiric  flings  at  Walpole  as  "  Baron 
Otranto  "  and  "  Horatio  Trefoil,"  and  John- 
son, by  his  famous  letter  to  Chesterfield, 
written  on  the  completion  of  the  dictionary. 

Leslie  Stephen,  in  his  monograph  on  the 
great  lexicographer,  says : 


Johnson.  153 

"  Johnson  was  naturally  annoyed  when  the 
dignified  noble  published  two  articles  in  the 
World,  —  a  periodical  supported  by  such  po- 
lite personages  as  himself  and  Horace  Wal- 
pole,  —  in  which  the  need  of  a  dictionary  was 
set  forth,  and  various  courtly  compliments 
described  Johnson's  fitness  for  a  dictatorship 
over  the  language.  Nothing  could  be  more 
prettily  turned ;  but  it  meant,  and  Johnson 
took  it  to  mean,  I  should  like  to  have  the  dic- 
tionary dedicated  to  me :  such  a  compliment 
would  add  a  feather  to  my  cap,  and  enable 
me  to  appear  to  the  world  as  a  patron  of 
literature  as  well  as  an  authority  upon  man- 
ners. *  After  making  pert  professions,'  as 
Johnson  said,  *  he  had  for  many  years  taken 
no  notice  of  me ;  but  when  my  dictionary 
was  coming  out,  he  fell  a  scribbling  in  the 
World  about  it.'  Johnson,  therefore,  be- 
stowed upon  the  noble  earl  a  piece  of  his 
mind  in  a  letter  which  was  not  published  till 
it  came  out  ui  Boswell's  biography. 


154      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

" '  My  Lord,  —  I  have  been  lately  in- 
formed by  the  proprietor  of  the  World 
that  two  papers,  in  which  my  dictionary  is 
recommended  to  the  public,  were  written 
by  your  lordship.  To  be  so  distinguished 
is  an  honour,  which,  being  very  little  accus- 
tomed to  favours  from  the  great,  I  know  not 
well  how  to  receive,  or  in  what  terms  to 
acknowledge. 

"  *  When,  upon  some  slight  encouragement, 
I  first  visited  your  lordship,  I  was  overpow- 
ered, like  the  rest  of  mankind,  by  the  en- 
chantment of  your  address,  and  could  not 
forbear  to  wish  that  I  might  boast  myself,  le 
vainqueur  du  vainqueur  de  la  terre,  —  that  I 
might  obtain  that  regard  for  which  I  saw  the 
world  contending ;  but  I  foimd  my  attend- 
ance so  little  encouraged  that  neither  pride 
nor  modesty  would  suffer  me  to  continue  it. 
When  I  had  once  addressed  your  lordship  in 
public,  I  had  exhausted  all  the  arts  of  pleas- 
ing which  a  wearied  and  uncourtly  scholar 


Johnson.  155 

can  possess.  I  had  done  all  that  I  could, 
and  no  man  is  well  pleased  to  have  his  all 
neglected,  be  it  ever  so  little. 

"  *  Seven  years,  my  lord,  have  now  passed 
since  I  waited  in  your  outward  room  and 
was  repulsed  from  your  door ;  during  which 
time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  work  through 
difficulties  of  which  it  is  useless  to  complain, 
and  have  brought  it  at  last  to  the  verge  of 
publication  without  one  act  of  assistance, 
one  word  of  encouragement,  and  one  smile 
of  favour.  Such  treatment  I  did  not  expect, 
for  I  never  had  a  patron  before. 

"  *  The  Shepherd  in  "  Virgil "  grew  at  last 
acquainted  with  Love,  and  found  him  a  native 
of  the  rocks. 

"  *  Is  not  a  patron,  my  lord,  one  who  looks 
with  unconcern  on  a  man  struggling  for  life 
in  the  water,  and  when  he  has  reached  the 
ground  encumbers  him  with  help  }  The  no- 
tice which  you  have  been  pleased  to  take  of 
my  labours,  had  it  been  early,  had  been  kind  ; 


156     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am  indifferent, 
and  cannot  enjoy  it ;  till  I  am  solitary,  and 
cannot  impart  it ;  till  I  am  known,  and  do 
not  want  it.  I  hope  it  is  no  very  cynical 
asperity  not  to  confess  obligations  where  no 
benefit  has  been  received,  or  to  be  unwilling 
that  the  public  should  consider  me  as  owing 
that  to  a  patron  which  Providence  has  enabled 
me  to  do  for  myself. 

"  *  Having  carried  on  my  work  thus  far 
with  so  little  obligation  to  any  favourer  of 
learning,  I  shall  not  be  disappointed  though  I 
should  conclude  it,  should  loss  be  possible, 
with  loss ;  for  I  have  been  long  wakened  from 
that  dream  of  hope  in  which  I  once  boasted 
myself  with  so  much  exultation,  my  lord, 

"  *  Your  lordship's  most  humble, 

most  obedient  servant, 

"*Sam.  Johnson.* 

"The  letter  is  one  of  those  knock-down 
blows  to  which  no  answer  is  possible,  and 


Johnson.  157 

upon  which  comment  is  superfluous.  It  was, 
as  Mr.  Carlyle  calls  it,  'the  far-famed  blast 
of  doom  proclaiming  into  the  ear  of  Lord 
Chesterfield  and,  through  him,  of  the  listen- 
ing world,  that  patronage  should  be  no 
more.' " 

Of  this  letter  Johnson  said  it  was  "ex- 
pressed in  civil  terms,  but  such  as  might 
show  him  that  I  did  not  mind  what  he  said 
or  wrote,  and  that  I  had  done  with  him." 

Johnson  afterward  exchanged  the  word 
"  garret "  for  "  patron  "  in  his  "  Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes,"  so  that  the  lines  now  read : 

"  There  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail,  — 
Toil,  envy,  want,  the  patron  and  the  jail." 

A  warm  supporter  of  authority  in  princi- 
ples, Johnson  was  at  the  same  time  noted  for 
his  personal  independence  and  self-respect. 
He  believed,  also,  that  the  scholar's  life  lev- 
elled all  differences  of  rank.  In  1767,  George 
III.,  who  had  bestowed  a  pension  upon  the 


158      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

doctor,  expressed  a  desire  to  see  him,  and  the 
inimitable  Boswell  tells  of  the  interview 
with  extreme  complacency.  "The  king 
asked  whether  he  was  writing  anything, 
and  Johnson  excused  himself  by  saying 
that  he  had  told  the  world  what  he  knew, 
for  the  present,  and  had  '  done  his  part  as  a 
writer.'  *  I  should  have  thought  so,  too,' 
said  the  king,  «if  you  had  not  written  so 
well.'  *No  man,'  said  Johnson,  'could  have 
paid  a  higher  compliment ;  and  it  was  fit  for 
a  king  to  pay,  —  it  was  decisive.'  " 

But  the  approval  of  a  king  moves  us  little 
compared  with  reading  of  the  kindly  charities 
of  "  Surly  Sam,"  —  so  rough  outside,  some- 
times, but  so  tender  within.  Mrs.  Thrale 
said  that  "he  loved  the  poor  as  she  never 
saw  any  one  else  love  them,  with  an  earnest 
desire  to  make  them  happy.  His  charity 
was  unbounded ;  he  proposed  to  allow  him- 
self one  hundred  a  year  out  of  the  three 
hundred   of   his   pension ;    but   the   Thrales 


Johnson.  159 

could  never  discover  that  he  really  spent 
upon  himself  more  than  seventy  pounds, 
or  at  most  eighty  pounds." 

We  will  not  leave  him  without  repeating 
the  story  of  his  penance  for  disobeying  his 
father. 

While  staying  at  Lichfield,  he  was  missed 
one  morning  at  breakfast,  and  did  not  return 
till  night.  "Then  he  told  how  his  time  had 
been  passed.  On  that  day  fifty  years  before, 
his  father,  confined  by  illness,  had  begged 
him  to  take  his  place  to  sell  books  at  a  stall 
at  Uttoxeter.  Pride  made  him  refuse.  *To 
do  away  with  the  sin  of  this  disobedience,  I 
this  day  went  in  a  post-chaise  to  Uttoxeter, 
and  going  into  the  market  at  the  time  of  high 
business,  uncovered  my  head  and  stood  with 
it  bare  an  hour  before  the  stall  which  my 
father  had  formerly  used,  exposed  to  the 
sneers  of  the  standers-by  and  the  inclemency 
of  the  weather ;  a  penance  by  which  I  trust 
I    have    propitiated    Heaven    for    this   only 


l6o      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

instance,  I  believe,  of  contumacy  to  my 
father.'  If  the  anecdote  illustrates  the 
touch  of  superstition  in  Johnson's  mind,  it 
reveals,  too,  that  sacred  depth  of  tenderness 
which  ennobled  his  character." 

In  "Fifty  Years  of  English  Art,"  Hodg- 
son speaks  of  the  "  period  in  English  history 
when  the  great  lexicographer  held  the  same 
position  with  artists  that  trumps  do  with 
whist  players ;  the  rule  was,  when  in  doubt 
about  a  subject,  play  Doctor  Johnson."  Evi- 
dently the  painter  of  our  picture  of  the 
doctor  awaiting  Chesterfield's  pleasure  had 
heard  of  this  trick,  for  his  first  success  was 
won  in  1843,  with  a  picture  of  "Blinking 
Sam  "  reading  the  manuscript  of  the  "  Vicar 
of  Wakefield."  Two  years  later,  Ward  sent 
to  the  Royal  Academy  the  painting  we 
reproduce. 

Its  background  reveals  the  figure  of  Lord 
Chesterfield  receiving  a  visitor,  having  just 
parted  with  those   on  the  right, —  a   group 


Doctor  Johnson  in  the  Anteroom  of  Lord 
Chesterfield. 

From  painting  by  Edward  M.  Ward. 


Johnson.  i6l 

formed  of  a  lady  of  the  highest  fashion,  pre- 
ceded by  her  black  page,  and  attended  by  a 
very  "  Lord  Foppington,"  who  seems  to  jest 
with  her  at  the  expense  of  the  waiting  com- 
pany. Among  these,  the  burly  form  of  John- 
son fronts  us,  and  the  others  include  a  comely 
widow  lady  with  her  pretty  boy,  an  old  soldier 
with  a  wooden  leg,  a  parson  yawning  at  the 
window,  and  a  sporting  squire,  whip  in  hand. 
This  picture  is  in  the  National  Gallery 
together  with  the  "Disgrace  of  Clarendon," 
"The  South  Sea  Bubble,"  and  "James  II. 
receiving  the  news  of  the  landing  of  the 
Prince  of  Orange."  Its  painter,  Edward 
Matthew  Ward,  R.  A.,  who  produced  many 
works  of  the  class  known  as  historical  anec- 
dote, committed  suicide  in  1 879,  his  mind  be- 
ing unhinged  through  disease.  Eight  frescoes 
by  him  adorn  the  corridor  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  most  successful  being  the 
"  Last  Sleep  of  Argyle,"  and  the  "  Execution 
of  Montrose." 


l62      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 


GOLDSMITH. 

When  Goldsmith  first  came  to  London,  in 
1756,  the  year  after  Johnson  had  finished  his 
dictionary,  he  was  "  penniless,  friendless,  and 
forlorn,"  but  at  the  time  of  our  picture,  he  is, 
as  we  see,  opulent  —  for  him. 

For  this  is  a  dozen  years  later,  and  his 
play  of  "The  Good-natured  Man"  has  just 
been  brought  out  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre, 
and  is,  on  the  whole,  a  success.  Johnson  had 
written  the  prologue,  and  the  two  friends, 
with  the  faithful  Boswell,  are  dining  together 
in  a  cozy  nook  at  the  "  Mitre  "  in  Fleet  Street, 
and  talking  over  the  first  performance. 

A  pleasant  sight  they  make  in  the  quaint 
old  tavern  ensconced  near  the  fire,  with  the 
doctor,  as  usual,  doing  most  of  the  talking. 
But  then  it  was  talk  worth  listening  to,  and 
there  was  a  great  soul  behind  it.  A  true 
friend,  too,  was  Samuel  Johnson,  and  to  none 


Goldsmith.  163 

more  than  to  Goldsmith,  who  often  needed  one. 
Boswell  gives  us  the  doctor's  account  of  how 
he  once  helped  the  generous  and  improvident 
Irishman.  He  says  :  "  I  received  one  morning 
a  message  from  poor  Goldsmith,  that  he  was 
in  great  distress,  and  as  it  was  not  in  his 
power  to  come  to  me,  begging  that  I  would 
come  to  him  as  soon  as  possible.  I  sent  him 
a  guinea  and  promised  to  come  to  him  directly. 
I  accordingly  went  to  him  as  soon  as  I  was 
dressed,  and  found  that  his  landlady  had 
arrested  him  for  his  rent,  at  which  he  was  in 
a  violent  passion.  I  perceived  that  he  had 
already  changed  my  guinea  and  had  a  bottle 
of  Madeira  and  a  glass  before  him.  I  put 
the  cork  into  the  bottle,  desired  he  would  be 
calm,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  of  the  means 
by  which  he  might  be  extricated.  He  then 
told  me  that  he  had  a  novel  ready  for  the 
press,  which  he  produced  to  me.  I  looked 
into  it,  and  saw  its  merit ;  told  the  landlady 
I  should  soon  return,  and  having  gone  to  a 


164     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

bookseller,  sold  it  for  sixty  pounds.  I  brought 
Goldsmith  the  money ;  and  he  discharged  his 
rent,  not  without  rating  his  landlady  in  a  high 
tone  for  having  used  him  so  ill,"  This  book 
was  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield."  But  we  are 
straying  from  our  scene. 

Goldsmith  is  finely  arrayed  in  a  new  suit 
which  Mr.  Filby,  the  tailor,  has  provided  for 
the  evening  of  the  production  of  the  comedy, 
which  put  ;£^SOO  in  the  author's  pocket. 
Four  hundred  of  this  sum  he  immediately 
spent  on  the  lease  and  furnishing  of  a  set  of 
chambers  in  Brick  Court,  Middle  Temple,  and 
used  a  good  part  of  the  remainder  in  giving 
jolly  entertainments  there  to  his  friends.  It 
is  said  that  the  learned  Blackstone,  then  en- 
gaged on  his  famous  "  Commentaries  "  in  the 
rooms  below,  was  at  times  nearly  driven  mad 
by  the  uproar. 

In  these  rooms,  six  years  later,  Oliver  Gold- 
smith died.  He  was  buried  in  the  Temple 
churchyard,  and  Johnson  wrote  his  epitaph. 


Goldsmith.  165 

in  which  is  the  well-known  line  saying 
that  he  "touched  nothing  that  he  did  not 
adorn." 

This  is,  however,  not  to  be  found  over 
Goldsmith's  grave,  but  on  his  monument  in 
the  Poet's  Comer  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
where  the  two  friends  were  walking  one  day 
when  Johnson  quoted  Ovid's  line : 

"  Forsitan  et  nostrum  nomen  miscebitur  isiis.*' 
"  Perhaps  our  name  may  be  mingled  with  these." 

Johnson  lies  in  the  abbey  near  the  monu- 
ment to  Goldsmith,  of  whom  he  said :  "  Let 
not  his  frailties  be  remembered ;  he  was  a 
very  great  man." 

Certainly  nothing  but  his  goodness  was 
remembered  by  the  humble  mourners  who 
filled  the  staircase  of  Brick  Court  on  the  day 
of  his  funeral,  —  "  women  without  a  home, 
without  domesticity  of  any  kind,  with  no 
friend  but  him  they  had  come  to  weep  for ; 
outcasts  of  that  great,  solitary,  wicked  city. 


1 66     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

to  whom  he  had  never  forgotten  to  be  kind 
and  charitable." 

Eyre  Crowe,  the  painter  of  the  diners  at 
the  "  Mitre,"  has  also  placed  on  canvas  this 
scene  at  Goldsmith's  funeral. 

Many  of  the  happiest  hours  of  the  later 
years  of  Goldsmith's  life  were  spent  in  the 
company  of  the  Horneck  family.  Mrs.  Hor- 
neck,  the  widow  of  a  certain  Captain  Hor- 
neck, was  related  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and 
Burke  was  the  guardian  of  her  two  daughters, 
so  it  was  natural  that  they  should  become 
acquainted  with  Doctor  Goldsmith.  The 
two  girls,  Catherine  and  Mary,  were,  in  1 769, 
when  they  first  met  our  author,  nineteen  and 
seventeen  years  old.  In  the  following  year, 
the  three  ladies  and  Goldsmith  took  a  little 
Continental  tour  together,  during  which  he 
wrote  to  Reynolds  from  Paris :  *'  I  will  soon 
be  among  you,  better  pleased  with  my  situa- 
tion at  home  than  I  ever  was  before.  And 
yet  I  must  say  that,  if  anything  could  make 


Goldsmith.  167 

France  pleasant,  the  very  good  women  with 
whom  I  am  at  present  would  certainly  do  it. 
I  could  say  more  about  that,  but  I  intend 
showing  them  this  letter  before  I  send  it 
away." 

"The  Jessamy  Bride"  was  Goldsmith's 
playful  nickname  for  Mary  Homeck,  and 
her  sister  he  called  "Little  Comedy." 
These  nicknames  are  preserved  in  a  bit 
of  jocular  verse,  written  by  Goldsmith,  in 
reply  to  an  invitation  to  dinner  at  Doctor 
Baker's : 

**  Your  mandate  I  got, 
You  may  all  go  to  pot ; 
Had  your  senses  been  right, 
You'd  have  sent  before  night ; 
As  I  hope  to  be  saved, 
I  put  off  being  shaved ; 
For  I  could  not  make  bold, 
While  the  matter  was  cold, 
To  meddle  in  suds, 
Or  to  put  on  my  duds ; 
So  tell  Homeck  and  Nesbitt, 
And  Baker  and  his  bit, 


1 68      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

And  Kanffman  beside, 
And  the  Jessamy  bride, 
With  the  rest  of  the  crew, 
The  Reynoldses  two, 
Little  Comedy's  face, 
And  the  Captain  in  lace. 

Tell  each  other  to  rue 

Your  Devonshire  crew. 

For  sending  so  late 

To  one  of  my  state. 

But  'tis  Reynolds's  way 

From  wisdom  to  stray. 

And  Angelica's  whim 

To  be  frolick  like  him. 
But  alas!  your  good  worships,  how  could  they  be 

wiser. 
When  both  have  been  spoiled  in  to-day's  Adver- 
tiser f' 

Another  bit  of  pleasant  fooling  is  Gold- 
smith's answer  to  a  rhyming  letter  from  Mrs. 
Bunbury  (once  Catherine  Horneck),  asking 
the  poet  to  visit  them  at  Barton,  the  family 
seat  in  Suffolk.     He  says  : 

"  You  begin  as  follows : 


The  First  Audience. 

From  painting  by  Margaret  Dicksee. 


Goldsmith.  169 

« •  I  hope,  my  good  doctor,  you  soon  will  be  here, 
And  your  spring  velvet  coat  very  smart  will  appear, 
To  open  our  ball  the  first  day  of  the  year.' 

"Pray,  madam,  where  did  you  ever  find 
the  epithet  'good'  applied  to  the  title  of 
doctor  ?  Had  you  called  me  learned  doctor, 
or  grave  doctor,  or  noble  doctor,  it  might  be 
allowable,  because  they  belong  to  the  pro- 
fession. But  not  to  cavil  at  trifles,  you  talk 
of  my  spring  velvet  coat,  and  advise  me  to 
wear  it  the  first  day  in  the  year,  that  is,  in 
the  middle  of  winter,  —  a  spring  velvet  in  the 
middle  of  winter ! ! !  That  would  be  a  sole- 
cism indeed ;  and  yet,  to  increase  the  incon- 
sistence, in  another  part  of  your  letter  you 
call  me  a  beau ;  now,  on  one  side  or  other, 
you  must  be  wrong.  If  I  am  a  beau,  I  can 
never  think  of  wearing  a  spring  velvet  in 
winter ;  and  if  I  am  not  a  beau  —  why  —  then 
—  that  explains  itself." 

Miss  Dicksee  has  imagined  Goldsmith  as 
reading  to  the   Misses  Homeck  the  manu- 


1 70      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

script  of  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  which 
was  produced  at  Covent  Garden  in  1773, 
and  made  a  great  hit.  Fortunate  girls,  in- 
deed, to  be  the  first  introduced  to  Miss  Hard- 
castle  and  Tony  Lumpkin. 

Catherine  Horneck  married  Bunbury,  "  the 
graceful  and  humourous  amateur  artist  of 
those  days,"  and  the  "  Jessamy  Bride  "  wedded 
one  Colonel,  afterward  General,  Gwyn,  four 
years  after  Goldsmith's  death.  A  lock  of 
his  hair  was  taken  from  the  coffin  and  given 
to  Mary  Horneck,  who  always  kept  it,  though 
she  lived  to  be  very  old.  Hazlitt  once  met 
her  in  Northcote's  studio,  and  says  she  talked 
of  Goldsmith  with  recollection  and  affection 
undimmed  by  time.  She  was  still  beautiful 
in  old  age,  and  Hazlitt  says  :  "  I  could  almost 
fancy  the  shade  of  Goldsmith  in  the  room, 
looking  round  with  complacency." 

Surely  the  gentle,  kindly  poet  would  be 
pleased  with  Miss  Dicksee's  picture  of  him 
gjid  his  charming  girl  friends. 


Burns  in  Edinburgfi,  178/. 

From  painting  by  Charles  M.  Hardie. 


Bums.  171 


BURNS. 

«*  Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress, 
A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite  the  bliss !  " 

These  familiar  lines  of  Bums  are  found  in 
his  poem  of  "A  Winter  Night,"  which  was 
first  printed  in  the  earliest  Edinburgh  edition 
of  his  works.  Our  artist  describes  Bums  in 
the  act  of  reciting  this  poem  to  a  gathering 
of  literary  people  at  the  Duchess  of  Gordon's 
in  Edinburgh,  in  1787. 

The  most  prominent  personage  in  the  scene, 
after  the  poet,  is  the  fair,  witty,  and  eccentric 
hostess,  Jane,  Duchess  of  Gordon,  noted  as  a 
leader  of  society  and  fashion  in  Edinburgh, 
and  also  for  her  efforts  in  raising  a  regiment 
of  Highlanders  from  the  Gordon  tenantry  for 
her  eldest  son.  The  beautiful  Duchess  of 
Devonshire  is  said  to  have  kissed  those  elect- 
ors who  would  promise  to  vote  for  her  can- 
didate, and  the  Duchess  of  Gordon,  we  are 


1/2      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

told,  bestowed  a  kiss  on  each  recruit  for  the 
famous  "Gordon  Highlanders." 

Leaning  on  the  back  of  her  chair  is  "  Peggy" 
Chalmers,  whom  Burns  praised  in  two  songs, 
and  next  her  stands  Miss  Burnett,  the  beauti- 
ful daughter  of  Lord  Monboddo.  She  died 
at  an  early  age,  of  consumption,  and  the  poet 
wrote  an  elegy  upon  her. 

The  venerable  man  sitting  at  the  extreme 
right  of  the  picture  is  Doctor  Blacklock,  the 
blind  poet,  whose  letter  to  the  Rev.  George 
Laurie,  the  poet's  friend,  caused  Burns  to 
forego  his  intention  of  emigrating  to  the  West 
Indies,  and  to  seek  success  in  Edinburgh. 

In  Burns's  "  Epistle  to  Doctor  Blacklock  " 
occur  the  beautiful  lines  : 

«'  To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime 
To  weans  and  wife  ; 
That's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 
Of  human  life." 

The  gentleman  in  uniform,  beside  pretty 
"  Peggy  "  Chalmers,  is  the  Earl  of  Glencaim,  a 


Bums.  173 

kind  friend  and  patron  of  the  poet,  whose 
"  Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glencaim  "  con- 
cludes thus : 

"  The  mother  may  forget  the  child 

That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee ; 
But  I'll  remember  thee,  Glencaim, 
And  a'  that  thou  hast  done  for  me  i  '* 

Seated  next  Glencaim  is  the  accomplished 
and  eccentric  judge,  Lord  Monboddo,  above 
whose  head  is  seen  that  of  Alexander  Nas- 
myth,  the  artist,  who  had  Burns  for  one  of 
his  sitters.  Behind  Nasmyth  is  Creech,  the 
celebrated  Edinburgh  publisher  who  issued 
Bums's  poems,  and  was  also  the  recipient  of 
a  rh)mied  epistle  from  him.  Standing  with 
arms  folded  is  Henry  Mackenzie,  author  of 
"The  Man  of  Feeling."  William  Tytler  of 
Woodhouslee,  who  wrote  a  book  in  defence  of 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  sits  with  hands  on  the 
table,  and  next  him  is  Doctor  Blair  of  "  Rhet- 
oric "  fame.  Behind  Burns  is  Adam  Ferguson, 
the  distinguished  metaphysician,  the  old  lady 


1/4      T^^  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

next  him  being  the  Dowager  Countess  of 
Glencairn.  Dugald  Stewart,  the  philosopher, 
sits  beside  her,  his  handkerchief  in  his  right 
hand,  and  behind  is  seen  Harry  Erskine,  the 
eloquent  and  witty  advocate,  leaning  over  the 
chair  of  one  of  the  players  at  the  card-table. 

It  was  during  Burns' s  stay  in  Edinburgh  at 
this  period  that  he  and  the  young  Walter 
Scott  met  for  the  only  time  in  their  lives. 
As  the  great  novelist  has  himself  recorded 
the  episode,  it  would  be  inconsiderate  to  use 
any  words  but  his  own  in  describing  it : 

"  As  for  Burns  I  may  truly  say  Virgiliunt 
vidi  tantutn.  I  was  a  lad  of  fifteen,  in  1786- 
^Jt  when  he  came  first  to  Edinburgh,  but  had 
sense  and  feeling  enough  to  be  much  inter- 
ested in  his  poetry,  and  would  have  given  the 
world  to  know  him  ;  but  I  had  very  little 
acquaintance  with  any  literary  people,  and 
still  less  with  the  gentry  of  the  west  country, 
the  two  sets  whom  he  most  frequented.  Mr. 
Thomas  Grierson  was  at  that  time  a  clerk  of 


m 


7he  Meeting  of  Bums  and  Scott. 

From   painting  by   Charles   M.    Hardie. 


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A    ':?•■: 

Bums.  1 75 

my  father's.  He  knew  Bums,  and  promised 
to  ask  hira  to  his  lodgings  to  dinner,  but  had 
no  opportunity  to  keep  his  word ;  otherwise 
I  might  have  seen  more  of  this  distinguished 
man.  As  it  was,  I  saw  him  one  day  at  the 
late  venerable  Professor  Ferguson's,  where 
there  were  several  gentlemen  of  literary  repu- 
tation, among  whom  I  remember  the  cele- 
brated Mr.  Dugald  Stewart.  Of  course,  we 
youngsters  sat  silent,  looked,  and  listened. 
The  only  thing  I  remember,  which  was 
remarkable  in  Bums's  manner,  was  the  effect 
produced  upon  him  by  a  print  of  Bunbury's 
representing  a  soldier  lying  dead  on  the  snow, 
his  dog  sitting  in  misery  on  one  side,  —  on 
the  other,  his  widow,  with  a  child  in  her  arms. 
These  lines  were  written  beneath  : 

"  Cold  on  Canadian  hills,  or  Minden's  plain, 
Perhaps  that  parent  wept  her  soldier  slain ; 

Bent  o'er  her  babe,  her  eyes  dissolved  in  dew, 
The  big  drops  mingling  with  the  milk  he  drew, 

Gave  the  sad  presage  of  his  future  years, 
The  child  of  misery  baptised  in  tear^." 


1/6     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  Burns  seemed  much  affected  by  the  print, 
or  rather  the  ideas  which  it  suggested  to  his 
mind.  He  actually  shed  tears.  He  asked 
whose  the  lines  were,  and  it  chanced  that 
nobody  but  myself  remembered  that  they 
occur  in  a  half -forgotten  poem  of  Langhome's, 
called  by  the  unpromising  title  of  *  The  Jus- 
tice of  Peace.'  I  whispered  my  information 
to  a  friend  present,  who  mentioned  it  to 
Bums,  who  rewarded  me  with  a  look  and  a 
word,  which,  though  of  mere  civility,  I  then 
received  and  still  recollect  with  very  great 
pleasure. 

"  His  person  was  strong  and  robust ;  his 
manners  rustic,  not  clownish  —  a  sort  of  dig- 
nified plainness  and  simplicity,  which  received 
part  of  its  effect,  perhaps,  from  one's  knowl- 
edge of  his  extraordinary  talents.  His  fea- 
tures are  represented  in  Mr.  Nasmyth's 
picture ;  but  to  me  it  conveys  the  idea  that 
they  are  diminished,  as  if  seen  in  perspec- 
tive.     I   think   his   countenance   was   more 


Bums.  I  yy 

massive  than  it  looks  in  any  of  the  portraits. 
I  would  have  taken  the  poet,  had  I  not  known 
what  he  was,  for  a  very  sagacious  country 
farmer  of  the  old  Scotch  school,  /.  e.,  none 
of  your  modern  agriculturists,  who  keep 
labourers  for  their  drudgery,  but  the  dotice 
gudeman  who  held  his  own  plough.  There 
was  a  strong  expression  of  sense  and  shrewd- 
ness in  all  his  lineaments  ;  the  eye  alone,  I 
think,  indicated  the  poetical  character  and 
temperament.  It  was  large,  and  of  a  dark 
cast,  which  glowed  (I  say  literally  glowed) 
when  he  spoke  with  feeling  or  interest.  I 
never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human  head, 
though  I  have  seen  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  my  time.  His  conversation  expressed 
perfect  self-confidence,  without  the  slightest 
presumption.  Among  the  men  who  were  the 
most  learned  of  their  time  and  country,  he 
expressed  himself  with  perfect  firmness,  but 
without  the  least  intrusive  forwardness ;  and 
when  he  differed  in  opinion,  he  did  not  hesi- 


178     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature, 

tate  to  express  it  firmly,  yet  at  the  same  time 
with  modesty.  I  do  not  remember  any  part 
of  his  conversation  distinctly  enough  to  be 
quoted ;  nor  did  I  ever  see  him  again,  except 
in  the  street,  where  he  did  not  recognise  me, 
as  I  could  not  expect  he  should.  He  was 
much  caressed  in  Edinburgh,  but  (consider- 
ing what  literary  emoluments  have  been  since 
his  day)  the  efforts  made  for  his  relief  were 
extremely  trifling. 

"  I  remember,  on  this  occasion,  I  thought 
Burns's  acquaintance  with  English  poetry  was 
rather  limited,  and  also  that,  having  twenty 
times  the  abilities  of  Allan  Ramsay  and  of 
Fergusson,  he  talked  of  them  with  too  much 
humility  as  his  models ;  there  was,  doubtless, 
national  predilection  in  his  estimate.  This 
is  all  I  can  tell  you  about  Bums.  I  have 
only  to  add  that  his  dress  corresponded 
with  his  manner.  He  was  like  a  farmer 
dressed  in  his  best  to  dine  with  the  laird. 
I  do  not  speak  in  malam  partem,  when  I  say 


Bums.  179 

I  never  saw  a  man  in  company  with  his 
superiors  in  station  and  information  more 
perfectly  free  from  either  the  reality  or  the 
affectation  of  embarrassment.  I  was  told, 
but  did  not  observe  it,  that  his  address  to 
females  was  extremely  deferential,  and  always 
with  a  turn  either  to  the  pathetic  or  humour- 
ous, which  engaged  their  attention  particularly. 
I  have  heard  the  late  Duchess  of  Gordon  re- 
mark this.  I  do  not  know  anything  I  can  add 
to  these  recollections  of  forty  years  since." 

In  the  painting  of  the  meeting  between 
Bums  and  Scott,  the  artist  has  placed  Pro- 
fessor Ferguson,  the  host,  at  the  fireside ; 
Dugald  Stewart  is  seated  behind  the  young 
Scott ;  and  then  come  Dr.  Joseph  Black, 
Adam  Smith,  who  wrote  "The  Wealth  of 
Nations,"  taking  snuff,  John  Home,  author  of 
the  once  popular  tragedy  of  Douglas,  whose 
"Young  Norval"  is  not  yet  forgotten,  and, 
lastly.  Dr.  James  Hutton,  the  geologist. 

These  two  admirable  illustrations  of  the 


i8o     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

life  of  the  Ayrshire  bard  were  both  painted 
by  Charles  M.  Hardie,  a  Scotch  artist,  who 
has  also  produced  other  works  on  the  same 
theme,  and  to  whom  every  lover  of  Burns 
should  be  grateful. 

CHARTIER. 

When,  in  1743,  Voltaire's  «M6rope" 
received  its  first  performance,  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  audience  was  extreme. 

"  The  pit  was  mad,"  wrote  the  poet  to  one 
of  his  friends,  "  They  cried  to  the  duchess 
(his  old  friend,  the  Duchess  de  Villars)  to 
kiss  me,  and  they  made  so  much  noise  that 
she  was  obliged  at  last  to  do  it,  by  the  order 
of  her  mother-in-law.  I  have  been  kissed 
publicly,  like  Alain  Chartier  by  the  Princess 
Marguerite  of  Scotland,  but  he  was  asleep, 
and  I  was  awake." 

The  eminent  French  poet  of  whom  Vol- 
taire  spoke   is   doubtless   better   known   to 


Alain  Chattier  and  Margaret  of  Scotland. 

From  painting  by  Pierre  Charles  Comte. 


Chartier.  i8i 

English  readers  through  the  kiss  given  him 
by  the  beautiful  and  unfortunate  Margaret  of 
Scotland  than  by  his  verse.  The  story  is 
that  one  day  the  poet  fell  asleep  in  the  palace 
while  composing,  and  Margaret,  coming  by, 
graciously  bestowed  a  kiss  upon  him,  saying 
in  justification  that  it  was  not  the  man  she 
saluted,  but  the  mouth  from  whence  had  come 
so  many  beautiful  sentences. 

Chartier,  who,  by  the  way,  was  called  the 
ugliest  man  of  his  day,  enjoyed  an  extraor- 
dinary reputation  during  his  life  for  wit, 
taste,  and  eloquence,  and  was  esteemed  the 
greatest  ornament  to  the  court.  He  is  styled 
the  most  distinguished  French  man  of  letters 
during  the  fifteenth  century,  and  Miss  Cos- 
tello,  in  her  book  on  the  early  poetry  of  France, 
calls  him  "a  poet  of  whom  any  age  and 
country  might  be  proud."  She  says  :  "  The 
tenderness,  eloquence,  and  beauty  of  his  com- 
positions place  him  in  the  first  rank,  and 
indeed  many  of  those  on  whom  the  French 


1§2     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

found  their  poetic  fame,  and  distinguish  in 
their  'Parnasse,*  would  scarcely  be  considered, 
by  other  nations,  as  worthy  to  approach  him. 
His  faults  are  those  of  his  age,  his  beauties 
are  his  own,  and  those  who  followed  did  not 
scruple  to  adopt  much  of  his  style  and  many 
of  his  ideas." 

He  was  secretary  to  both  Charles  VI.  and 
Charles  VH,,  and  was  sent  by  the  latter  as 
one  of  an  embassy  to  James  I.  of  Scotland,  to 
ask  the  hand  of  his  eldest  daughter  Margaret 
for  Charles's  son,  the  dauphin  Louis,  who 
afterward  became  Louis  XI.  of  France. 
The  match  was  finally  made,  after  much  delay, 
and  the  boy  and  girl  —  Louis  was  but  thirteen 
and  Margaret  younger  still  —  were  married 
at  Tours  in  1436.  Louis,  whose  detestable 
character  is  notorious,  never  liked  his  Scottish 
bride,  and  their  union  was  a  most  unhappy 
one.  We  see  him  in  our  picture,  approach- 
ing behind  his  young  wife  and  sneering  at  her 
impulsive  action. 


Chart  ier.  183 

Margaret,  who  had  noble  qualities,  found 
some  consolation  in  poetry,  which  she  studied 
under  the  direction  of  Chartier.  The  dau- 
phin's dislike  and  neglect,  however,  caused 
her  to  fall  into  a  state  of  melancholy, 
and  her  health  became  weakened.  WhUe  in 
this  sad  condition,  she  took  a  chill,  which 
developed  into  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and 
of  this  disease  she  died  in  a  few  days.  When 
she  lay  dying,  some  of  her  attendants  tried  to 
recall  her  thoughts  to  life,  and  the  pleasures 
which  might  yet  be  in  store  for  her,  but  she 
turned  from  them  in  disgust,  exclaiming, 
"  Fie  on  the  life  of  this  world  !  Speak  to  me 
no  more."  And  thus  saying,  so  died,  in  1445, 
aged  only  about  twenty  years. 

Chartier  makes  numerous  allusions  in  his 
poems  to  one  whom  he  dares  not  name,  to 
whom  his  duty  and  homage  are  due  (doubt- 
less referring  to  Margaret),  and  laments 
with  pathos  the  early  death  of  his  beloved 
mistress. 


184      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 
We  quote  some  of  his  lines  of  this  nature 

«♦  Yes,  I  must  cease  to  breathe  the  song, 
At  once  must  lay  my  harp  aside ; 
No  more  to  me  may  joy  belong, 
It  withered  when  my  lady  died ! 
In  vain  my  lips  essay  to  smile, 
My  eyes  are  filled  with  tears  the  while ; 
In  vain  I  strive  to  force  my  lays 
Back  to  the  dreams  of  former  days^ 
Let  others  sing,  whom  love  has  left 
Some  ray  of  hope  amidst  their  grief, 
Who  are  not  of  all  bliss  bereft. 
And  still  can  find,  in  verse,  relief. 
The  thoughts,  by  fancy  beauteous  made, 
All  now  are  changed  to  endless  gloom, 
And  following  still  my  dear  one's  shade, 
Sleep  with  her  in  her  early  tomb  ! 

"  'Twas  all  the  joy  the  world  could  give. 
To  serve  her  humbly  and  alone ; 
For  this  dear  task  I  seemed  to  live, 
And  life  to  me  all  summer  shone. 
All  that  I  sought  in  Fortune's  store 
Was  thus  to  love  her  evermore ! 
*     I  thought  my  state  a  Paradise 

More  bright  than  I  have  words  to  tell, 


Chartier.  185 

When  those  fair,  soft,  and  smiling  eyes 
A  moment  deigned  on  mine  to  dwell : 
It  seemed  far  better  thus  to  me 
To  live,  although  no  hope  were  mine, 
Than  monarch  of  fair  France  to  be. 
And  this  existence  to  resign." 

Our  picture  of  Alain  Chartier  and  Margaret 
of  Scotland  was  sent  to  the  Salon  of  1859  by 
Pierre  Charles  Comte,  a  well-known  French 
artist,  who  has  received  many  medals  and 
other  honours.  His  "  Henry  HI.  and  the 
Duke  of  Guise  "is  in  the  Luxembourg,  and 
his  "  Scene  at  Fontainebleau  —  Costume  of 
Louis  XL"  belongs  to  the  Corcoran  Gallery 
at  Washington.  Several  paintings  by  Comte 
are  owned  in  this  country,  the  galleries  of  the 
late  A.  T.  Stewart  and  W.  H.  Vanderbilt 
having  included  works  by  him. 

At  the  Centennial  Exhibition  in  Philadel- 
phia, in  1876,  Comte  was  represented  by  a 
picture  of  gypsies  exhibiting  dancing  pigs 
before  the  sick  Louis  XL  Louis,  the  wily 
rival  of  Charles  the  Bold,  was  very  fond  of 


1 86      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

hunting  and  of  animals,  especially  of  those 
which  were  rare,  or  trained  to  perform  any 
uncommon  feats,  and  the  painting  shown  at 
Philadelphia  is  not  the  only  one  in  which 
Comte  has  described  this  king's  hobby. 

Other  pictures  by  him  show  the  crowning 
of  the  dead  Inez  de  Castro  (Mrs.  Hemans 
has  told  the  story  in  verse),  Charles  IX. 
visiting  the  wounded  Coligny,  the  coxcomb 
king,  Henry  III.,  among  his  monkeys  and 
parrots,  the  pleasure-loving  Francis  I.  and 
the  Duchess  d'Etampes  in  the  studio  of 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  and  Joan  of  Arc  at  the 
coronation  of  Charles  VII. 

MOLlfeRE. 

Mlle.  Poisson,  one  of  the  actresses  in 
Moli^re's  company,  has  recorded  the  fact 
that,  when  the  great  dramatist  read  a  new 
piece  to  his  troupe,  he  liked  to  have  children 
present,  that  the  actors  might  study  the  effect 


tMolihre  and  His  Company. 

From  painting  by  Gaston  Melingue. 


Molihe.  187 

of  his  work  upon  the  fresh  and  unspoilt 
intelligences  of  the  young  listeners. 

It  is  thus  that  the  artist  has  shown  Moli^re 
to  us,  in  the  full  flow  of  his  animated  recital, 
and  with  all  his  hearers,  both  old  and  young, 
absorbed  and  delighted.  Among  them  must 
be  seated  Armande,  the  charming  young  bride 
of  Moli^re,  who  was  married  to  him  at  seven- 
teen, he  being  then  forty.  Few  of  such 
marriages  result  happily,  and  Moli^re's  was 
no  exception  to  the  rule. 

In  a  scandalous  publication,  professing  to 
be  a  biography  of  Armande  Moli^re,  may  be 
found  a  remarkable  account  of  a  conversation 
between  her  husband  and  an  old  friend, 
which,  however  suspicious  may  be  the  medium 
through  which  it  reaches  us,  has  in  it  the  very 
ring  of  truth. 

Moli^re  says  :  "  I  took  my  wife,  so  to  speak, 
from  the  cradle ;  I  brought  her  up  with  care. 
...  I  persuaded  myself  that  I  could  inspire 
her  with  sentiments  which  time  should  not 


1 88      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

destroy,  and  I  neglected  nothing  to  attain 
this  end.  As  she  was  still  very  young  when 
I  married  her,  I  saw  no  evil  inclinations  in 
her,  and  I  believed  myself  a  little  less  unfor- 
tunate than  most  of  those  who  come  under 
similar  engagements.  Neither  did  I  give  up 
my  cares  after  marriage  ;  but  I  found  so  much 
indifference  in  her  that  I  began  to  perceive 
that  all  my  precautions  had  been  useless, 
and  that  the  feeling  she  had  for  me  was  very 
far  from  that  which  I  had  desired  to  make 
me  happy." 

Armande  was  beautiful,  talented,  graceful, 
witty,  but  she  was  also  a  coquette,  and  worse. 
Her  husband  showed  how  fully  he  had 
awakened  from  the  bright  dream  in  which 
her  affections  were  all  his  own,  when  he  wrote 
to  his  friend  Rohault  a  letter  which  ends : 
"I  am  the  most  wretched  of  men,  my  wife 
does  not  love  me."     Poor  Moli^re  ! 

His  play  of  "  The  Misanthrope,"  perhaps 
the  greatest  of  all  his  works,  reveals  his  woes.  • 


Molihe.  1 89 

In  it  Alceste,  a  later  Timon,  loves  C61im6ne, 
a  heartless  coquette.  It  should  be  remem- 
bered here,  that  these  two  parts  were 
repeatedly  acted  by  Moli^re  himself  and  his 
wife.  Alceste  discovers  that  the  coquette 
has  deceived  him,  and  loves  him  as  little  as 
she  does  his  rivals.  All  these  rivals,  however, 
make  the  same  discovery  by  the  same  means, 
C^lim^ne  having  unwisely  confided  her  opinion 
of  each  to  the  other ;  and  the  lady  is  thus 
caught  in  a  trap,  and  exposed  to  the  furious 
reproaches  of  one  after  another,  all  now 
as  bitter  as  they  were  formerly  flattering. 
At  last  the  injured  gallants  withdraw,  leav- 
ing her  with  Alceste,  the  most  deeply  injured 
of  all.  And  now  a  fleeting  impression  is  made 
upon  the  heart  of  C61im6ne  herself.  She  bids 
her  wounded  lover,  — 

"  Reproach  me  as  you  please :  I  have  done  wrong  — 
I  do  not  hide  it;  and  my  heart  confused 
Oifers  to  you  no  vain  apology. 
Of  all  the  others  I  despise  the  rage, 


190      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

But  your  resentment  is  too  reasonable. 
I  know  how  guilty  I  must  seem  to  you  — 
How  all  combines  to  prove  I  have  betrayed 
Your  faith,  and  given  you  too  just  cause  for  hate,  - 
Hate  me,  then  —  I  consent. 

ALCESTE. 

"  Ah,  can  I,  traitress  ? 
Can  I  thus  vanquish  all  past  tenderness  ? 
And  howsoever  ardently  I  long 
,  To  hate  you,  will  my  heart  do't  and  obey  me  ? 

To  Eliante  and  Philinte. 

«« You  see  how  far  unworthy  passion  goes : 
You  are  the  witnesses,  how  weak  I  am ; 
But  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  you  know  not  all. 
For  further  depths  remain,  and  you  shall  see 
How  vain  it  is  to  call  us  wise,  and  how 
Each  man  at  heart,  being  man,  is  always  fool. 

To  Cdlimine. 

"  Yes,  false  one,  yes,  I  can  forget  your  faults, 
Excuse  your  errors  in  my  inmost  soul, 
Cover  them  with  the  gentle  name  of  weakness, 
Vice  of  the  age  which  has  betrayed  your  youth ; 
If  only  with  your  heart  you  will  consent 
To  flee  the  world  with  me,  to  follow  now 


Moii^re.  191 

Into  the  wilds  where  I  have  vowed  to  live  ; 
Thus  only  can  you,  in  the  eyes  of  men. 
Repair  the  evils  you  have  done,  and  thus 
After  those  scandals  which  great  hearts  abhor, 
I  yet  may  be  allowed  to  love  you  still. 

c£lim^ne. 

'*  What,  I !  renounce  the  world  ere  I  am  old  — 
Go  and  be  buried  in  your  wilderness ! 

ALCESTE. 

«  If  your  soul  answer  mine,  what  want  we  more  ? 
Is  not  my  love  enough  for  your  content? 

c£lim£:ne. 

"  At  twenty  solitude  is  terrible. 
No ;  I  have  not  a  soul  so  great,  so  strong. 
As  to  content  myself  with  such  a  fate. 
But  if  my  hand  would  satisfy  your  wish, 
And  marriage  —  " 

"No,"  cries  Alceste,  convinced  at  last 
of  his  folly.  "This  refusal  has  done  more 
than  all  the  rest.  Since  you  are  not  able  to 
find  all  in  me  as  I  to  find  all  in  you,  I  refuse, 
and  free  myself  from  your  unworthy  chains. 


192      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

May  you  be  happy,"  he  adds,  turning  to  his 
sympathetic  friends ;  "  for  me,  betrayed  on 
all  sides,  overwhelmed  with  injustice,  I  must 
escape  from  this  gulf,  and  in  some  distant 
part  of  the  earth  find  a  shelter  where  a  man 
of  honour  may  be  free  to  live." 

Moli^re  died  suddenly,  an  hour  or  two  after 
a  performance  of  his  "  Malade  Imaginaire,"  in 
which  play,  as  Argan,  the  hypochondriac,  he 
had,  strangely  enough,  counterfeited  death  as 
a  means  of  proving  the  affection  of  his  wife, 
B61ine.     He  was  only  fifty-one  years  old. 

Gaston  Melingue,  the  French  artist  from 
whose  brush  came  our  picture  of  Moli^re 
reading,  has  painted  another  episode  from  the 
life  of  the  great  actor-dramatist,  showing  him 
dining  at  his  villa  in  Auteuil  with  some  of 
his  famous  friends,  —  Racine,  La  Fontaine, 
Boileau,  and  Chapelle.  This  picture,  which 
gained  him  an  Honourable  Mention  at  the 
Salon  of  1877,  is  in  the  art  museum  at  Sal- 
ford,     England.       Melingue's    other    works. 


Voltaire.  193 

several  of  which  are  in  French  provincial 
museums,  include  "  General  Daumesnil  at 
Vincennes,"  "Hoche  in  1789,"  "An  Episode 
of  the  Siege  of  Lille,  1792,"  "Joan  of  Arc 
and  Baudricourt,"  and  "La  Tour  d'Au- 
vergne." 


VOLTAIRE. 

"  France  has  been  considered  thus  far  as 
the  asylum  of  unfortunate  monarchs  ;  I  wish 
that  my  capital  should  become  the  temple  of 
great  men,"  wrote  Frederick  the  Great  to 
Voltaire  in  1743,  when  inviting  him  to  make 
his  home  at  Berlin.  Seven  years  before, 
Frederick,  then  Prince  Royal  of  Prussia,  had 
written  his  first  letter  to  Voltaire,  beginning 
that  famous  series  which  lasted,  with  some 
interruption,  over  forty  years,  until  the  death 
of  the  poet,  —  seven  years  after,  Voltaire 
took  up  his  abode  at  the  Prussian  monarch's 
court. 


194      ^he  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

"  Friedrich  is  loyally  glad  over  his  Voltaire ; 
eager  in  all  ways  to  content  him,  make  him 
happy;  and  keep  him  here,  as  the  Talking 
Bird,  the  Singing  Tree,  and  the  Golden 
Water  of  intelligent  mankind ;  the  glory  of 
one's  own  court,  and  the  envy  of  the  world. 
*  Will  teach  us  the  secret  of  the  Muses,  too ; 
French  Muses,  and  help  us  in  our  bits  of 
literature ! '  "  These  two,  who  first  saw  each 
other  in  the  flesh  in  1740,  met  for  the  last 
time  in  March,  1753,  when  the  "Prince  of 
Scoffers "  bade  farewell  to  Berlin,  after  his 
quarrel  with  Frederick  about  Maupertuis, 

The  "  Letters  "  of  this  distinguished  mathe- 
matician and  president  of  the  Berlin  Academy 
had  been  ridiculed  by  Voltaire  in  his  "  Dia- 
tribe of  Doctor  Akakia,"  and  both  Maupertuis 
and  the  king,  his  patron,  were  offended. 

And  so  there  came  an  end  to  the  notable 
intimacy  between  these  two  great  men ;  an 
end  to  the  poet's  corrections  of  the  monarchs' 
writings,  —  Frederick  valued  his  victories  at 


Voltaire.  195 

less  than  his  verses ;  an  end  to  the  mutual 
compliments  and  to  the  generous  favours 
which  the  king  showered  upon  Voltaire. 

What  a  gap  his  departure  made  in  those 
supper  parties  about  Frederick's  "  Round 
Table  "  at  Sans  Souci  palace,  where  Voltaire 
shone  easily  first.  Hear  Carlyle  anent  these : 
"  Not  to  mention  the  suppers  of  the  king : 
chosen  circle,  with  the  king  for  centre ;  a 
radiant  Friedrich  flashing  out  to  right  and 
left,  till  all  kindles  into  coruscation  round 
him ;  and  it  is  such  a  blaze  of  spiritual  sheet- 
lightnings  —  wonderful  to  think  of ;  Voltaire 
especially  electric.  Never,  or  seldom,  were 
seen  such  suppers."  At  these  meals,  the  com- 
pany, sometimes  numbering  as  many  as  seven- 
teen, though  usually  limited  to  ten,  began  to 
gather  at  nine ;  at  half-past  that  hour  the 
meal  was  served,  and  at  midnight  the  king 
withdrew.  Not  even  the  wit  or  wisdom  of 
Voltaire  could  keep  the  methodical  Frederick 
from  his  bed  more  than  five  minutes. 


\ 


196      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

In  Menzel's  painting  of  the  brilliant  assem- 
blage, the  king  sits  in  the  centre  with  his  face 
turned  toward  Voltaire's  keen  profile  on  his 
right.  General  von  Stille,  one  of  the  only 
two  Germans  present,  besides  Frederick,  sits 
between  Voltaire  and  the  king,  and  behind 
the  poet  is  seen  the  head  of  George,  Lord 
Marshal  Keith,  a  Scotch  nobleman  who  was 
at  different  times  the  ambassador  of  Prussia, 
at  the  courts  of  Spain  and  France.  Keith 
had  served  under  Marlborough  when  a  young 
man,  but,  being  a  Jacobite  and  concerned  in 
the  uprising  of  171 5,  had  to  fly  to  the  Con- 
tinent, and  was  attainted  and  his  estates  for- 
feited to  the  Crown.  After  various  changes 
of  fortune,  he  became  attached  to  Frederick's 
court,  and  although,  when  pardoned  by  George 
II.  for  his  share  in  the  rebellion  of  17 15,  he 
visited  Scotland,  he  returned  to  Berlin  by  Fred- 
erick's invitation  and  ended  his  life  there. 

His  more  famous  brother,  James,  Field- 
Marshal  Keith,  sits  on  the  king's  left  band. 


The  Round  lable  of  Frederick  the  Great, 

From  painting  by  Adolf  Men/.el. 


Voltaire.  197 

This  Marshal  Keith,  another  Jacobite  who 
fled  after  Preston,  and  flourished  abroad, 
was  one  of  Frederick's  most  able  and  trust- 
worthy generals,  and  was  killed  at  the  battle 
of  Hochkirch,  where  the  Prussians  were 
defeated  by  Daun,  This  was  in  1758,  a  sad 
year  for  Frederick,  who  lost  not  only  Keith 
and  Hochkirch,  but  his  favourite  and  dearly 
loved  sister,  Wilhelmina.  He  sorrowed  much 
over  Keith,  —  had  his  body  conveyed  to  Ber- 
lin and  reinterred  with  all  honours  in  the 
Garrison  Church  there,  and  in  after  years  put 
up  a  statue  to  him  in  the  Wilhelm  Platz. 

Next  to  the  brave  marshal  we  see  Algarotti, 
leaning  forward  so  as  to  lose  nothing  of  Vol- 
taire's words.  Francesco  Algarotti,  a  man 
of  taste,  wit,  and  learning,  sometimes  styled 
the  "  Swan  of  Padua,"  was  the  son  of  a  rich 
Venetian  merchant.  He  had  visited  Voltaire 
at  Cirey  when  but  a  young  man,  and  inter- 
ested him  in  a  project  of  putting  Newton's 
"  Principia  "  into  a  series  of  Italian  dialogues 


1 98      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature, 

for  ladies,  which  Algarotti  afterwards  com- 
pleted and  published  at  Paris.  Frederick 
created  him  a  Prussian  count  in  1740  and 
was  his  friendly  patron  for  many  years. 
Algarotti  laboured  for  the  reform  of  Italian 
opera,  and  gained  the  reputation  of  an 
authority  upon  painting,  sculpture,  and  archi- 
tecture. He  wrote  *'  Letters  on  Painting," 
and  was  employed  at  one  time  to  procure 
pictures  for  the  Royal  Gallery  at  Dresden, 
and  among  his  purchases  now  there  are 
the  famous  Madonna  of  the  Meyer  Family, 
by  Holbein,  and  the  "  Chocolate  Girl "  of 
Liotard. 

He  died  at  Pisa  in  1764,  and  lies  buried  in 
the  Campo  Santo  there,  beneath  a  monument 
erected  by  Frederick  the  Great,  on  which  is 
inscribed 

"  Hie  jacet  Algarottus,  sednon  omnis.^'' 

Beside  Algarotti  is  seated  another  German 
soldier.  Count  Rothemburg,  and  at  his  left 
may  be  noticed  La  Mettrie,  reader  and  pen- 


Voltaire.  199 

sioned  companion  to  Frederick,  a  Frenchman 
who  was  by  turns  author,  physician,  material- 
ist, atheist,  and  teller  of  stories.  He  is  con- 
versing with  the  Marquis  d'Argens,  another 
French  writer,  who  had  lived  a  gay  and 
adventurous  life  in  youth,  and,  gaining  Fred- 
erick's attention  by  some  romances  which  he 
wrote,  was  invited  to  enter  his  service.  One 
of  his  chief  duties  was  to  aid  in  enticing  to 
Berlin  those  Frenchmen  of  talent  whom  the 
King  of  Prussia  wished  to  have  about  him. 

Such  was  the  circle  which  Menzel  has  so 
marvellously  characterised,  —  an  odd,  cosmo- 
politan gathering  which  well  shows  Frederick's 
preference  for  Frenchmen  in  that  it  does  not 
include  a  single  name  honoured  in  German 
literature. 

In  181 5,  the  same  year  that  brought  forth 
Meissonier,  whose  brush  so  often  paid  homage 
to  Napoleon,  was  bom  Adolf  Menzel,  the 
painter  of  Frederick  the  Great.  Menzel's 
"Round  Table  of  Frederick  at  Sans  Souci, 


2oO      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

1750,"  fitly  finds  a  home  in  the  National 
Gallery  of  Berlin,  with  his  picture  —  two 
masterpieces  together  —  of  "A  Flute  Con- 
cert at  Sans  Souci,"  showing  Frederick  per- 
forming on  his  favourite  instrument.  The 
artist  has  also  depicted  that  monarch  at  the 
defeat  of  Hochkirch,  —  a  notable  battle-piece, 
—  and  in  some  other  situations,  and  has  illus- 
trated with  many  most  admirable  and  inimi- 
table designs  both  Kugler's  history  of  the 
life  of  Frederick  and  a  sumptuous  edition  of 
'his  voluminous  writings  in  verse  and  prose,  — 
the  latter  task  being  commissioned  by  King 
Frederick  William  IV.  Not  content  with 
these  astonishing  achievements,  which  con- 
tain the  result  of  as  much  study  and  re- 
search as  would  occupy  the  lifetime  of  some 
artists,  Menzel  has  also  produced  a  large 
work  on  the  "  Army  of  Frederick  the 
Great,"  a  monograph  which  re-creates  not 
only  its  uniforms,  trappings,  and  weapons, 
but  also  its  men. 


Diderot.  20r 

Numerous  works  in  oil,  besides  these  already 
spoken  of,  have  come  from  this  remarkable 
painter's  hand,  —  notably  that  one  known  as 
"  Modem  Cyclops,"  a  scene  in  an  iron  foundry, 
now  in  the  Berlin  National  Gallery,  —  but  we 
will  not  try  to  enumerate  them.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  in  Menzel  the  world  wisely  honours  an 
artist  truly  original,  one  of  the  greatest  of  his 
time. 

DIDEROT. 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  Meissonier 
greatly  admired  Menzel' s  art,  and  obtained  for 
him  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  in 
1867,  when  the  German  artist  sent  some  pic- 
tures to  the  Paris  Exhibition.  Menzel  could 
not  speak  French,  and  Meissonier  knew  no 
German,  but  it  is  told  that  they  were  so 
delighted  with  each  other's  artistic  gifts  that 
during  Menzel* s  stay  they  were  rarely  seen 
apart,  although  their  whole  conversation  was 
limited  to  repeated  pressures  of  the  hand  and 


202      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

mutual  exclamations  of  admiration.  An  odd 
spectacle  they  must  have  presented,  as  Meis- 
sonier  was  a  little  man  with  a  big  head,  and 
Menzel  is  even  shorter  of  stature  than  the 
French  artist. 

Voltaire,  who  once  wrote  to  Diderot,  "I 
am  eighty-three  years  of  age,  and  I  repeat 
that  I  am  inconsolable  at  the  thought  of 
dying  without  ever  having  seen  you,"  did 
not  meet  him  until  the  last  year  of  his  own 
life,  but  he  did  much  for  the  Encyclopaedia, 
that  great  work  which  Diderot  brought  to  its 
conclusion  alone. 

We  have  seen  Voltaire  beside  Frederick 
painted  by  Menzel ;  let  us  look  for  a  moment 
at  Diderot  painted  by  Meissonier.  Here,  in 
one  of  the  painter's  masterpieces,  we  see  the 
philosopher  seated  in  his  library  reading  to 
some  friends,  among  whom  are  three  artists, 
—  Chardin,  renowned  for  his  success  in  "  still 
life,"  Joseph  Vemet,  the  marine  painter,  and 
Vanloo.     Who  were  the  persons  Meissonier 


La  Lecture  che{  Diderot 

From  painting  by  J.  L.  E.  Meissonier. 


Diderot.  203 

intended  to  represent  by  the  other  three 
listeners  is  not  recorded,  but  we  can  well 
imagine  them  to  have  been  D'Alembert, 
Diderot's  cooperator  on  the  Encyclopaedia, 
Holbach,  author  of  the  "  System  of  Nature," 
which  was  imputed  to  Diderot,  and  Grimm, 
Diderot's  closest  friend. 

Diderot  may  be  gratifying  his  artist  friends 
with  a  first  hearing  of  one  of  his  annual 
criticisms  on  the  exhibition  of  paintings  in  the 
Salon,  the  first  of  which  was  written  in  1759. 

John  Morley,  in  his  admirable  book  on 
Diderot,  writes  interestingly  of  these  reviews. 

He  says  :  "  It  is  impossible,  in  reading  how 
deeply  Diderot  was  affected  by  fifth-rate 
paintings  and  sculpture,  not  to  count  it 
among  the  great  losses  of  literature  that  he 
saw  few  masterpieces.  He  never  made  the 
great  pilgrimage.  He  was  never  at  Venice, 
Florence,  Parma,  Rome.  A  journey  to  Italy 
was  once  planned,  in  which  Grimm  and 
Rousseau  were  to  have  been  his  travelling 


204      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

companions ;  the  project  was  not  realised,  and 
the  strongest  critic  of  art  that  his  country  pro- 
duced never  saw  the  greatest  glories  of  art. 
If  Diderot  had  visited  Florence  and  Rome, 
even  the  mighty  painter  of  the  *  Last  Judg- 
ment,' and  the  creator  of  those  sublime  figures 
in  the  New  Sacristy  at  San  Lorenzo,  would 
have  found  an  interpreter  worthy  of  him. 
But  it  was  not  to  be.  *  It  is  rare,'  he  once 
wrote,  'for  an  artist  to  excel  without  having 
seen  Italy,  just  as  a  man  seldom  becomes  a 
great  writer  or  a  man  of  great  taste  without 
having  given  severe  study  to  the  ancients.' 
Diderot  at  least  knew  what  he  lost." 

For  Watteau,  Diderot  cared  little.  "I 
would  give  ten  Watteaus,"  he  said,  "  for  one 
Teniers." 

Greuze,  of  all  the  painters  of  the  time,  was 
Diderot's  chief  favourite.  "  Diderot  was  not 
at  all  blind  to  Greuze's  faults,  to  his  repeti- 
tions, his  frequent  want  of  size  and  amplitude, 
the  excess  of  gray  and  of  violet  in  his  colour- 


Diderot.  205 

ing.  But  all  these  were  forgotten  in  trans- 
ports of  sympathy  for  the  sentiment.  As  we 
glance  at  a  list  of  Greuze's  subjects,  we  per- 
ceive that  we  are  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
region  of  the  domestic,  the  moral,  *  Vhonnite^' 
the  homely  pathos  of  the  common  people. 
The  death  of  a  father  of  a  family,  regretted 
by  his  children  ;  The  death  of  an  unnatural 
father,  abandoned  by  his  children ;  The 
beloved  mother  caressed  by  her  little  ones ; 
A  child  weeping  over  its  dead  bird  ;  A  para- 
lytic tended  by  his  family ;  or.  The  fruit  of  a 
good  education.  Diderot  was  ravished  by 
such  themes." 

"  Diderot,  as  a  critic,  seems  always  to  have 
remembered  a  pleasant  remonstrance  once  ad- 
dressed at  the  Salon  by  the  worthy  Chardin  to 
himself  and  Grimm.  *  Gently,  good  sirs,  gently ! 
Out  of  all  the  pictures  that  are  here,  seek 
the  very  worst ;  and  know  that  two  thousand 
unhappy  wretches  have  bitten  their  brushes  in 
two  with  their  teeth,  in  despair  of  ever  doing 


2o6     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

even  as  badly.  Parrocel,  whom  you  call  a 
dauber,  and  who  for  that  matter  is  a  dauber, 
if  you  compare  him  to  Vernet,  is  still  a  man 
of  rare  talent  relatively  to  the  multitude  of 
those  who  have  flung  up  the  career  in  which 
they  started  with  him.'  And  then  the  artist 
recounts  the  immense  labours,  the  exhaust- 
ing years,  the  boundless  patience,  attention, 
tenacity,  that  are  the  conditions  even  of  a 
mediocre  degree  of  mastery." 

Morley  says :  "  The  one  painter  whom 
Diderot  never  spares  is  Boucher,  who  was  an 
idol  of  the  time,  and  made  an  income  of  fifty 
thousand  livres  a  year  out  of  his  popularity. 
He  laughs  at  him  as  a  mere  painter  of  fans, 
an  artist  with  no  colour  on  his  palette  save 
white  and  red." 

"  Diderot's  special  gift,"  according  to  Mor- 
ley, "  was  the  transformation  of  scientific  crit- 
icism into  something  with  the  charm  of 
literature.  Take,  for  instance,  a  picture  by 
Vien: 


Diderot.  207 

" '  Psyche  approaching  with  her  lamp  to  sur- 
prise Love  in  his  sleep.  —  The  two  figures  are 
of  flesh  and  blood,  but  they  have  neither  the 
elegance,  nor  the  grace,  nor  the  delicacy  that 
the  subject  required.  Love  seems  to  me  to 
be  making  a  grimace.  Psyche  is  not  like  a 
woman  who  comes  trembling  on  tiptoe.  I  do 
not  see  on  her  face  that  mixture  of  surprise, 
fear,  love,  desire,  and  admiration,  which  ought 
all  to  be  there.  It  is  not  enough  to  show  in 
Psyche  a  curiosity  to  see  Love ;  I  must  also 
perceive  in  her  the  fear  of  awakening  him. 
She  ought  to  have  her  mouth  half  open,  and 
to  be  afraid  of  drawing  her  breath.  'Tis  her 
lover  that  she  sees,  —  that  she  sees  for  the 
first  time,  at  the  risk  of  losing  him  for  ever. 
What  joy  to  look  upon  him,  and  to  find  him 
so  fair!  Oh,  what  little  intelligence  in  our 
painters,  how  little  they  understand  nature! 
The  head  of  Psyche  ought  to  be  inclined 
toward  Love ;  the  rest  of  her  body  drawn 
back,   as  it  is  when  you  advance  toward  a 


2o8      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

spot  where  you  fear  to  enter,  and  from  which 
you  are  ready  to  flee  back ;  one  foot  planted 
on  the  ground,  and  the  other  barely  touching 
it.  And  the  lamp ;  ought  she  to  let  the  light 
fall  on  the  eyes  of  Love  ?  Ought  she  not  to 
hold  it  apart,  and  to  shield  it  with  her  hand 
to  deaden  its  brightness  ?  Moreover,  that 
would  have  lighted  the  picture  in  a  striking 
way.  These  good  people  do  not  know  that 
the  eyelids  have  a  kind  of  transparency ; 
they  have  never  seen  a  mother  coming  in 
the  night  to  look  at  her  child  in  the  cradle, 
with  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  and  fearful  of 
awakening   it." 

The  picture  of  Diderot  reading  was  one 
of  the  works  completed  by  Meissonier  in 
1859,  and  belongs  to  Baron  E.  de  Rothschild. 

Its  author,  Jean  Louis  Ernest  Meissonier, 
died  at  the  age  of  seventy-five,  in  1891,  full 
of  honours.  It  is  not  necessary  to  recount 
these,  —  it  should  be  enough  to  say  that  the 
French  have  already  erected  two  statues  to 


Diderot.  209 

him,  —  one  in  Poissy,  where  he  had  a  country- 
house,  and  one  in  Paris,  outside  the  Louvre. 
Meissonier's  "  Friedland,  1807,"  a  picture 
showing  Napoleon  at  the  zenith  of  his  glory, 
is  one  of  the  artist's  most  famous  works,  and 
also  one  of  his  largest,  —  small  dimensions 
being  the  rule  with  his  canvases.  It  belongs 
to  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art  in  New 
York,  having  come  there  from  the  sale  of 
A.  T.  Stewart's  collection  in  1887,  where  it 
was  purchased  by  Judge  Hilton,  who  gave 
it  to  the  museum.  Mr.  Stewart  is  said  to 
have  paid  the  painter  the  large  sum  of 
sixty  thousand  dollars  for  this  picture.  The 
triumphant  "1807"  has  its  contrast  in 
"1 814"  (owned  in  France),  where  we  see 
the  emperor  on  his  white  charger,  at  the 
head  of  his  staff,  slowly  retreating  before 
the  enemy  over  snow-covered  roads. 

The  last  work  exhibited  by  Meissonier 
before  his  death  was  another  Napoleonic 
episode,  —  "Jena,     1806."      Of    the    many 


2IO      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

other  pictures  he  produced,  the  most  famous 
are  "La  Rixe"  (which  Napoleon  III.  gave 
to  Prince  Albert  in  1855,  and  which  now 
belongs  to  Queen  Victoria),  "The  Portrait 
of  the  Sergeant,"  "The  Sign  Painter,"  and 
"Solferino,"  the  latter  being  in  the  Luxem- 
bourg, 

SCHILLER. 

Schiller  is  reading  his  tragedy  of  "  Don 
Carlos "  to  the  little  court  of  Weimar,  of 
which  the  central  figure  is  Duke  Karl  Au- 
gust, a  liberal  patron  of  literature.  Around 
the  duke  are  grouped  his  family,  and  behind 
him  stand  Goethe  and  Wieland.  The  former 
lived  at  Weimar  for  over  fifty  years,  until  his 
death  in  1832,  and  was  buried  there,  beside 
Schiller,  in  the  vault  of  the  Grand  Dukes  of 
Saxe-Weimar,  Together  in  life  and  death, 
the  illustrious  pair  are  again  united  in  a  well- 
conceived  bronze  group  by  Rietschel,  which 
was  erected,  in  1857,  in  front  of  the  theatre 


Schiller  at  Weimar. 

From  drawing  by  Wilhelm  Lindenschmit. 


Schiller.  2 1 1 

at  Weimar,  and  portrays  the  two  poets  stand- 
ing side  by  side. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  pleasure  Schiller 
must  have  experienced  in  reciting  his  tragedy 
to  such  friendly  and  appreciative  listeners  as 
the  artist  has  grouped  before  us. 

We  may  suppose  the  poet  to  be  reading 
the  moving  scene  between  Philip  II.  and 
Don  Carlos,  in  the  second  act  of  the  play. 

KING. 

I  am  alone  1 

CARLOS. 

You  have  been  so  till  now.     Hate  me  no  more, 
And  I  will  love  you  dearly,  as  a  son : 
But  hate  me  now  no  longer !     O  !  how  sweet. 
Divinely  sweet  it  is,  to  feel  our  being 
Reflected  in  another's  beauteous  soul ; 
To  see  our  joys  gladden  another's  cheek. 
Our  pains  bring  anguish  to  another's  bosom, 
Our  sorrows  fill  another's  eye  with  tears  ! 
How  sweet,  how  glorious  is  it,  hand  in  hand, 
With  a  dear  child,  in  inmost  soul  beloved, 
To  tread  once  more  the  rosy  paths  of  youths, 
And  dream  life's  fond  illusions  o'er  again ! 


212      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature, 

How  proud  to  live  through  endless  centuries, 

Immortal  in  the  virtues  of  a  son; 

How  sweet  to  plant  what  his  dear  hand  shall  reap ; 

To  gather  what  will  yield  him  rich  return, 

And  guess  how  high  his  thanks  will  one  day  rise  1 

My  father,  of  this  earthly  paradise 

Your  monks  most  wisely  speak  not 

KING. 

O,  my  son, 
Thou  hast  condemn'd  thyself,  in  painting  thus 
A  bliss  this  heart  hath  ne'er  enjoyed  from  thee  I 

CARLOS. 

Th'  Omniscient  be  my  judge  !  You  till  this  hour 
Have  still  debarr'd  me  from  your  heart,  and  all 
Participation  in  your  royal  cares. 
The  heir  of  Spain  has  been  a  very  stranger 
In  Spanish  land  —  a  prisoner  in  the  realm 
Where  he  must  one  day  rule.     Say,  was  this  just, 
Or  kind  ?  And  often  have  I  blush'd  for  shame, 
And  stood  with  eyes  abash'd,  to  learn  perchance, 
From  foreign  envoys,  or  the  general  rumour, 
Thy  courtly  doings  at  Aranjuez. 

KING. 

Thy  blood  flows  far  too  hotly  in  thy  veins. 
Thou  wouldst  but  ruin  all. 


Schiller.  213 

CARLOS. 

But  try  me,  father ! 
'Tis  true  my  blood  flows  hotly  in  my  veins. 
Full  three  and  twenty  years  I  now  have  lived. 
And  nought  achieved  for  immortality. 
I  am  aroused  —  I  feel  my  inward  powers  — 
My  title  to  the  throne  arouses  me 
From  slumber  like  an  angry  creditor; 
And  all  the  misspent  hours  of  early  youth, 
Like  debts  of  honour,  clamour  in  mine  ears. 
It  comes  at  length,  the  glorious  moment  comes 
That  claims  full  interest  on  the  entrusted  talent 
The  annals  of  the  world,  ancestral  fame. 
And  glory's  echoing  trumpet  urge  me  on. 
Now  is  the  blessed  hour  at  length  arrived 
That  opens  wide  to  me  the  lists  of  honour. 
My  King,  my  father !  —  dare  I  utter  now 
The  suit  which  led  me  hither  ? 

KING. 

Still  a  suit? 
Unfold  it 

CARLOS. 

The  rebellion  in  Brabant 
Increases  to  a  height  —  the  traitor's  madness 
By  stern,  but  prudent,  vigour  must  be  met 
The  Duke,  to  quell  the  wild  enthusiasm. 


214      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Invested  with  the  sovereign's  power,  will  lead 
An  army  into  Flanders.     O,  how  full 
Of  glory  is  such  office !  —  and  how  suited 
To  open  wide  the  temple  of  renown 
To  me,  your  son !  To  my  hand,  then,  O  King, 
Entrust  the  army ;  in  thy  Flemish  lands 
I  am  well  loved,  and  I  will  freely  gage 
My  life,  for  their  fidelity  and  truth. 

KING. 

Thou  speakest  like  a  dreamer.     This  high  office 
Demands  a  man  —  and  not  a  stripling's  arm. 

CARLOS. 

It  but  demands  a  human  being,  father : 
And  that  is  what  Duke  Alva  ne'er  hath  been. 

KING. 

Terror  alone  can  tie  rebellion's  hands : 
Humanity  were  madness.     Thy  soft  soul 
Is  tender,  son :  they'll  tremble  at  the  Duke. 
Desist  from  thy  request. 

CARLOS. 

Despatch  me,  Sire, 
To  Flanders  with  the  army  —  dare  rely 
E'en  on  my  tender  soul.     The  name  of  Prince, 


Schiller.  215 

The  royal  name  emblazoned  on  my  standard, 
Conquers  where  Alva's  butchers  but  dismay. 
Here  on  my  knees  I  crave  it  —  this  the  first 
Petition  of  my  life.  —  Trust  Flanders  to  me. 

KING. 

Trust  my  best  army  to  thy  thirst  for  rule, 
And  put  a  dagger  in  my  murderer's  hand  I 

CARLOS. 

Great  God !  and  is  this  all  —  is  this  the  fruit 

Of  a  momentous  hour  so  long  desired ! 

Oh,  speak  to  me  more  kindly  —  send  me  not 

Thus  comfortless  away  —  dismiss  me  not 

With  this  afflicting  answer,  oh,  my  father  I 

Use  me  more  tenderly,  indeed  I  need  it. 

This  is  the  last  resource  of  wild  despair  — 

It  conquers  every  pow'r  of  firm  resolve 

To  bear  it  as  a  man  —  this  deep  contempt.  — 

My  ev'ry  suit  denied :  Let  me  away  — 

Unheard  and  foil'd  in  all  my  fondest  hopes, 

I  take  my  leave,  now  Alva  and  Domingo 

May  proudly  sit  in  triumph  where  your  son 

Lies  weeping  in  the  dust.     Your  crowd  of  courtiers, 

And  your  train  of  cringing,  trembling  nobles, 

Your  tribe  of  sallow  monks,  so  deadly  pale, 

All  witness'd  how  you  granted  me  this  audience. 


2i6      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

Let  me  not  be  disgraced  —  O,  strike  me  not 

With  this  most  deadly  wound  —  nor  lay  me  bare 

To  sneering  insolence  of  menial  taunts ! 

"  That  strangers  riot  on  your  bounty,  whilst 

Carlos,  your  son,  may  supplicate  in  vain." 

And  as  a  pledge  that  you  would  have  me  honour'd, 

Despatch  me  straight  to  Flanders  with  the  army. 

KING. 

Urge  thy  request  no  further —  as  thou  wouldst 
Avoid  the  King's  displeasure. 

CARLOS. 

I  must  brave 
My  King's  displeasure,  and  prefer  my  suit 
Once  more,  it  is  the  last.     Trust  Flanders  to  me ! 
I  must  away  from  Spain.     To  linger  here 
Is  to  draw  breath  beneath  the  headsman's  axe: 
The  air  lies  heavy  on  me  in  Madrid. 
Like  murder  on  guilty  soul  —  a  change, 
An  instant  change  of  clime  alone  can  cure  me. 
If  you  will  save  my  life,  despatch  me  straight 
Without  delay  to  Flanders. 

KING. 

Invalids,  like  thee,  my  son,  need  to  be  tended  close 

And  ever  watched  by  the  physician's  eye. 

Thou  stay'st  in  Spain  —  the  Duke  will  go  to  Flanders. 


GoetJie.  2 1 7 

The  late  Wilhelm  Lindenschmit,  who 
designed  "  Schiller  at  Weimar,"  was  a  painter 
of  history,  and  professor  at  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy of  Munich.  His  most  notable  produc- 
tions are  several  pictures  illustrative  of  the 
life  of  Luther,  one  of  which,  "  Luther  and  the 
Reformers  at  Marburg,  1529,"  was  formerly 
in  the  Powers   collection  at  Rochester,  N.  Y. 

The  Leipsic  Museum  owns  his  "  Ulrich 
Von  Hutten  at  Viterbo  in  15  16,  fighting  with 
five  Frenchmen  who  had  jeered  at  the  Em- 
peror Maximilian."  Lindenschmit  died  in 
1895. 

GOETHE. 

In  the  autumn  of  1808,  Napoleon  and 
Alexander  I.  met  at  Erfurt.  The  Kings  of 
Bavaria,  Wurtemberg,  and  Westphalia,  and 
their  queens,  with  many  other  princes  and 
dignitaries,  added  to  the  magnificence  of  the 
scene,  but  a  still  higher  lustre  was  imparted 


21 8      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

by  the  presence  of  Germany's  greatest 
scholars  and  men  of  letters. 

Among  them  was  Wieland,  the  "  German 
Voltaire,"  then  an  old  man  of  seventy-five, 
with  whom  Napoleon  held  a  long  conversation 
upon  literature,  history,  and  philosophy.  Amid 
other  queries,  the  emperor  asked  the  author 
of  "Oberon"  his  stock  question,  "Which 
has  been  the  happiest  age  of  humanity  ">.  " 
and  was  pleased  when  the  aged  poet  said  that 
it  was  impossible  to  give  a  reply,  because 
"good  and  evil,  virtue  and  vice,  continually 
alternate ;  philosophy  must  emphasise  the 
good  and  make  the  evil  tolerable." 

But  the  victor  of  Austerlitz  talked  with  a 
greater  than  Wieland  during  his  stay  at 
Erfurt.  Goethe,  then  in  his  sixtieth  year, 
visited  Napoleon,  at  the  request  of  the  latter. 
At  that  time,  and  long  afterward,  the  poet 
considered  the  emperor  not  only  the  greatest 
power,  but  the  greatest  idealist,  in  the  world. 
Twenty  years  later,  Goethe  said  to  Ecker- 


Napoleon  I.,  Goethe^  and  IVieland. 

From  painting  by  E.  E.  Hillemacher. 


Goethe.  219 

mann,  "  Napoleon  was  the  man !  His  life  was 
the  stride  of  a  demigod.  That  was  a  fellow 
whom  we  cannot  imitate." 

According  to  Goethe's  own  account  of  the 
interview,  given  in  his  "Annals,"  the  great 
soldier's  first  words  to  him  were,  "  You  are  a 
man  !  "     Goethe  says : 

"I  was  ordered  to  the  presence  of  the 
emperor  at  1 1  a.  m. 

"  A  stout  chamberlain,  a  Pole,  intimated  to 
me  to  stay. 

"  The  crowd  removed. 

"  Presented  to  Savary  and  Talleyrand. 

"  I  am  called  to  the  cabinet  of  the  emperor. 

"At  the  same  moment  Daru  sends  in  his 
name,  and  is  at  once  admitted. 

"  I  therefore  hesitate. 

"  Am  again  called. 

"  Step  in. 

"  The  emperor  sits  at  a  large  round  table, 
taking  breakfast ;  at  his  right  stands  Talley- 
rand at  some  distance  from  the  table  ;  at  his 


220      The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

left,  rather  near,  Daru,  with  whom  he  con- 
verses on  the  contribution  affairs. 

"  The  emperor  nods  to  me  to  come  forward. 

"  I  stand  at  becoming  distance  from  him. 

"  Having  looked  at  me  attentively,  he  said, 
'  Vous  ites  un  homme^ 

*'  I  bow. 

«'  He  asks,  *  How  old  are  you  ?  * 

"  *  Sixty  years.' 

"  *  You  carry  your  age  well. 

"  *  You  have  written  tragedies  ? ' 

"  I  answered  what  was  necessary. 

"  Here  Daru  took  up  the  word.  In  some 
measure  to  flatter  the  Germans  on  whom 
he  had  to  work  so  much  woe,  he  spoke 
of  German  literature ;  being  also  well  con- 
versant with  Latin  and  himself  editor  of 
Horace. 

"  He  spoke  of  me  in  much  the  same  way  as 
my  patrons  in  Berlin  might  have  spoken  ;  at 
least,  I  recognised  in  his  words  their  mode  of 
thought  and  sentiment. 


Goethe.  221 

"  He  then  added  that  I  had  translated  from 
the  French,  and  that  Voltaire's  *  Mahomet.' 

"  The  emperor  replied,  *  It  is  not  a  good 
piece,'  and  set  forth  with  great  detail  how 
unsuitable  it  was  for  the  conqueror  of  the 
world  to  make  such  an  unfavourable  descrip- 
tion of  himself. 

"He  then  turned  the  conversation  on 
*  Werther,*  which  he  seemed  to  have  studied 
thoroughly.  After  various  very  pertinent 
remarks  he  pointed  out  certain  passage,  and 
said,  'Why  have  you  written  so?  It  is  not 
according  to  nature,*  opening  up  his  meaning 
at  large,  and  setting  forth  the  matter  with 
perfect  accuracy. 

"  I  listened  to  him  with  an  expression  of 
pleasure,  and  with  a  smile  of  gladness 
answered  that  I,  indeed,  was  not  aware  that 
any  person  had  made  me  the  same  reproach  ; 
but  I  found  his  censure  quite  correct,  and 
confessed  that  in  this  passage  there  was 
something  demonstrable  as  untrue.     Only,  I 


222     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

added,  it  might  perhaps  be  pardoned  the 
poet  if  he  made  use  of  an  artifice  not  easily 
to  be  discovered  in  order  to  produce  certain 
effects  he  could  not  have  accomplished  in  a 
simple,  natural  way. 

"  The  emperor  seemed  satisfied  with  this, 
returned  to  the  drama,  and  made  very  impor- 
tant remarks,  in  the  manner  of  a  criminal 
judge  who  contemplates  the  tragic  stage  with 
the  greatest  attention,  having  deeply  felt  the 
deviation  of  the  French  theatre  from  nature 
and  truth. 

"  He  then  referred  to  the  fate-plays  with  dis- 
approval. They  had  belonged  to  a  darker  time. 
*  What,'  said  he,  *  have  people  now  to  do  with 
fate  "i     It  is  politics  that  is  fate.' 

"  He  next  turned  again  to  Daru,  and  spoke 
with  him  of  the  great  contribution  affairs.  I 
retired  a  little,  and  came  to  stand  just  at  the 
comer  where,  more  than  thirty  years  ago, 
along  with  many  a  glad  hour,  I  had  also 
experienced  many  a  sad  one,  and  had  time  to 


Goethe.  223 

remark  that  to  the  right  of  me,  toward  the 
entry  door,  Berthier,  Savary,  and  yet  another 
person  stood.     Talleyrand  had  removed. 

"  Marshal  Soult  was  announced. 

"  This  tall  figure,  with  a  profusion  of  hair  on 
his  head,  entered.  The  emperor  inquired 
jocularly  about  some  unpleasant  events  in 
Poland,  and  I  had  time  to  look  around  me 
in  the  room,  and  to  think  of  the  past. 

"  Here,  too,  was  the  old  tapestry. 

"  But  the  portraits  on  the  walls  were  van- 
ished. 

"  Here  had  hung  the  likeness  of  the  Duchess 
Amalia  in  masquerade  dress,  a  black  half- 
mask  in  the  hand,  the  other  likenesses  of 
governors  and  members  of  the  family,  likewise 
all  gone. 

"The  emperor  rose,  went  up  to  me,  and 
by  a  kind  of  manoeuvre  separated  me  from 
the  other  members  of  the  row  in  which  I 
stood. 

"  Turning  his  back  to  those,  and  speaking  to 


224     The  Great  Masters  of  Literature. 

me  in  a  lower  voice,  he  asked  whether  I  was 
married  ?  have  children  ?  and  other  personal 
matters  of  usual  interest.  In  the  same  man- 
ner, likewise,  he  inquired  after  my  relations 
to  the  princely  house,  after  the  Duchess 
Amalia,  the  prince,  the  princess,  etc.  I 
answered  him  in  a  natural  way.  He  seemed 
satisfied,  and  translated  it  into  his  own  lan- 
guage, only  in  a  somewhat  more  decisive  style 
than  I  had  been  able  to  express  myself. 

"  I  must  remark,  generally,  that  in  the  whole 
conversation  I  had  to  admire  the  multiplicity 
of  his  expressions  of  approval,  for  he  seldom 
listened  without  some  response,  either  nod- 
ding reflectively  with  the  head  or  saying 
*  Ouiy  or  '  Cest  bien '  or  such  like.  Nor  must 
I  forget  to  mention  that  when  he  had  finished 
speaking,  he  usually  added,  '  Qu'en  dit  M. 
Got?' 

"  And  so  I  took  the  opportunity  of  asking 
the  chamberlain  by  a  sign  whether  I  might 
take  leave,  which  he  answered  in  the  affirma- 


GoetJie.  225 

live,  and  I  then  without  further  ado  took  ray 
departure." 

Hillemacher's  painting  of  the  meeting  of 
these  great  ones  was  sent  to  the  Salon  of 
1863.  Its  artist,  who  died  in  1887,  was  a 
pupil  of  the  veteran  Cogniet,  and  painted 
many  episodes  of  historic  interest.  The 
French  government  purchased  his  "  Confes- 
sional in  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome,  on  Easter 
Day,"  painted  in  1855.  He  has  produced  a 
great  number  of  pictures,  including  "The 
Entrance  of  the  Turks  into  St.  Sophia  in 
1453/*  "The  Young  Turenne,"  "Ceres  in 
Search  of  Proserpine,"  "Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra," "  Tarpeia,"  and  "  Philip  IV.  and  Velas- 
quez." 


THE  END. 


IIT  SnilTHFRN  OFr.lONA!    IIBR4RV 


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